The Most Incompatible of Unions
by AnonM1ss
Summary: When Aoshi and Misao find themselves bound to each other out of filial duty and financial dependency, their enforced wedlock soon blossoms to yield unexpected results.
1. Part I

_The Most Incompatible of Unions_ is my new pet project! Boo yeah! Anyways, this is a piece that will have five parts; hence, I will make them very large. I will try to write them during my most inspirational trains of thought… bottom line is, this story will take longer to get updated between the parts. I hope it comes off as a tasteful story worth reading. Please do not neglect to read and review!

Disclaimer: I do not own RK and I also do not own any of Jane Austen's works (hint hint).

Summary: When Aoshi and Misao find themselves bound to each other out of filial duty and financial dependency, their enforced wedlock soon blossoms to yield unexpected results.

Part 1: Pride

Chapter 1

Misao shut her parasol grimly as she looked at the impressive inn. Frowning with distaste, Misao closed her eyes in defeat as she anticipated the meeting that would take place with her and her new family. Remembering her small yet happy family in Tokyo, Misao smiled the briefest of smiles—she had loved eating dinner with her older family members, filling the dining room with animated chatter. Although they were all orphans, Misao had never felt out of place without a father or mother. Her cousin Kaoru had always been the shoulder she leaned upon and the arms she looked for comfort. Witty Megumi was her oldest cousin, who characteristically filled the house with her dry remarks and distinctive laughter. Yahiko, who was Kaoru and Megumi's younger brother, had been her favorite partner in crime when they were young, and she treated him like the little brother she never had. Sou-nii had been the breadwinner and the one who she admired the most for his constant optimism and hard work. The pain of missing her best friend; however, surmounted nearly everything—she missed his debonair and clever ways, the way his eyes lit up when he told her about his latest escapades, his low rumbling voice whenever he said her name. Now she had lost them all, being forced to opt for a definite least of her choices with whom to share her life with: her mysterious fiancée. Shaking her head angrily, the young woman pushed aside frustration and sadness as she took in the plain surroundings and overcast sky encircling the Aoiya. She could do nothing—she had been promised to a man she had never met since the day she was born. 

Aoshi grabbed his trench coat from atop his Western style canopy bed. Donning it with an impassive expression, Aoshi managed his emotions by treating this meeting like any other business appointment. _Except_, his mind nagged, _this is no ordinary business. You are going to meet the woman you will marry_. His eyes flickered to the corner where his kodachi lay as he reasoned with himself. He had never had any reason to love in the marital sense—he had lived contentedly with his few yet valued companions. The crunching sound of carriage wheels on gravel alerted him of his fiancé's arrival. Looking out of the door darkly, Aoshi watched his advisor Okina greet the woman—no, she appeared more like a girl; she couldn't be much more than fifteen or sixteen. Aoshi brought a hand up to massage his temples—out of all his luck, he had to get a baby for a bride. He had hoped for a woman who could at least know how to keep the Aoiya under order or warm his bed. She didn't even seem capable of any of that, automatically diminishing her worth in his eyes. Whatever advantages this union could bring, he certainly didn't suppose they would be of any romantic sort. 

Misao had previously stepped out of the carriage with her head held back, having decided long ago to forego with Megumi onee-san's advice to appear modest and withdrawn. She figured that if the bond was true and serious, it would be better for her husband-to-be and his family to see her for what she truly was: untamable and raw, like the wind. Her flashing eyes of the most nautical blue met the shrewd, compassionate gaze of an elderly man, who bowed to her genteelly with a knowing smile, "Ah, you must be Misao-chan, I presume. Welcome, we have been expecting you." Misao returned the bow fluidly, her ebony braid whipping over her shoulder before she straightened up, her long dark eye lashes fluttering as she looked at the old man straight in the eye, apparently waiting for something. Okina looked at her with a quizzical yet easy smile before he caught onto what she wanted to know, "Ah! Pardon my rudeness. I am called Okina, but you may refer to me as Jiya." Giving her a playful wink, Okina turned towards the inn, missing the flushed amusement of the young lady as she took in his words with a quirky smile. _Odd_, she commented to herself, _this man is quite eccentric. He, at least, seems to be personable. Perhaps my stay will not be too painful_. Following the old man quickly through the gates, Misao turned to see if she should carry her bags in, only to find people already taking her luggage into the large building. An approving smile emerged, widening when she saw the appealing elegance of the inn and smelt the delicious aroma of simmering stew that wafted from the kitchen. Noting the efficiency of the service at the Aoiya and the genuine hospitality she had witnessed, the young Makimachi agreed with her brother's report on her fiancée's diurnal business standing—now, all she had to do was uncover any evidence of his nocturnal affairs, if he was engaged in any. 

Breathing in deeply, Misao smoothed the front of her deep lilac-tinted kimono, smiling roguishly as she walked long strides by Okina's side, a feat that would have been otherwise impossible if Kaoru-chan and Megumi onee-san had not altered the dress. The dress was adjusted to fit her easy, free walk, which pleased her to no end. All she needed, after all, was the semblance of a lady, not the actual qualities. When the aged man stopped abruptly in front of an impressive dark oak door, Misao observed him knock and address to the inhabitant of the room somewhat ceremoniously, "Aoshi, your bride is here." Freezing with mortification, Misao frowned distastefully at the older man's for his choice of words, who just chuckled at her discomfort as they waited for her fiancée to open the door, "Well, that _is_ how it really is, eh Misao-chan?" Misao bit back a retort and just settled for glaring daggers at Okina, who was totally unfazed by her countenance and laughed once more, "We should really watch what we do around you, ne?" A fleeting shade of darkness passed over her face as she looked unfocused to her right: would people always have to be on guard with her? Would she always be so disagreeable to them… only of use as the late Makimachi's daughter, and not cherished by her own right as a person? Okina caught it all—the change in spirit and the cloud that hovered over her young innocent face. Furrowing his brow in concern, Okina thought to himself, _Uh oh—I hope I didn't go too far with her. Will she cry? I thought she had more to her than that_. To his infinite relief; however, Misao brushed composure over her features, her chin setting obstinately and her eyes flashing, ready for battle as she turned to him with a mischievous glint in her eye, mouthing, _Just you wait… I'll get you Jiya_. Then the door opened on the two, a wave of faint incense and the scent of green tea rushing in their faces. 

Aoshi opened the door and quietly analyzed the two people in front of him. Okina seemed completely at ease; in fact, he seemed to be well pleased with something. He would ask him about it later. Turning slightly to face his bride, he bowed slightly, taking in her uplifted chin, her sparkling eyes that bespoke of a challenge and her smooth innocent forehead—still a child. She would definitely be more trouble than she was worth. She curtseyed slightly, not an inch more respectful than she deemed necessary, as she kept his gaze unflinchingly. He had to admire her spunk: few grown men alone could hold eye contact with him, something that this girl seemed to do with ease. She had a fine dose of animal spirits; hopefully, this would provide useful later when she matured enough for him to consider worthy of his association. She stood at least a foot below him with polished ease, her ocean-sprayed eyes blending into his dark indigo, her slender frame emphasized by the fragile lilac creation she wore. With a loose French braid that let strands of jet-black hair fall to her peach-shaped face and full rosy lips, she looked the picture of juvenile health. He had to admit she would probably make an exquisite woman, and hoped her mind would develop with her petite body. Ushering her and his advisor into his room, he asked her with only the absolute obligatory courtesy about her trip and her family. The young woman answered likewise, all emotion drained out of her face—her deep ocean eyes guarded and her lips nearly still. She introduced herself as Makimachi Misao, the only daughter of the late Makimachi, who had lived at her cousins' place for the last year or so after her father had passed away and before the engagement could come into effect. The marital age Aoshi's father, the late Shinomori and Makimachi-san had come up with was sixteen. That meant she was ten years his junior—frowning slightly, Aoshi pondered the wisdom of his father's decision to take up the commitment; after all, this was his son he was compromising. Whatever Makimachi had to offer had to be phenomenal if his father had thrust him into wedlock with a mere child. Some of his thoughts must have reflected in his eyes; however he had tried to hide his emotions, because Misao's face darkened as she peered into his face and presented him with a request, "I am well aware of the awkwardness of first introductions, so could you make up for this dreary start of a day and give me a tour of the Aoiya?" 

Ignoring the nodded approval of the older man as he watched his Okashira's young fiancée already make up for his lack of words, Aoshi answered tersely, "Aa" as he gestured for her to follow him. 

He was handsome, her fiancée—she had expected otherwise. Dreading the worst, Misao had thought that she had been promised to a pot-bellied, lecherous middle-aged man with a bald spot. When she met his eyes, she was surprised to find him young, good-looking in a dark way and utterly inclined to keep things distant between him and his bride. _Suit yourself_, she thought with relief, _I don't want to share a bed with anyone—no matter how attractive he may be. I am my own person; I will not give myself to anybody_. This vow of abstinence was anything but rashly thought out: Misao had the misfortune of witnessing sexual coercion and abuse up close. Her cousin Megumi had been a widely popular doctor in Aizu living alone while Kaoru and Yahiko lived in the dojo in Tokyo. During the time Megumi had been under the tutelage of a certain Genzai-sensei, she wished to undergo deeper research in medicine and accepted a wealthy businessman by the name of Takeda Kanryuu's offer of sponsorship. Soon, it became evident that his intentions were not noble, and she had been raped before she could fully escape from his grasp. She would never forget the day Megumi had arrived back in Tokyo—ill at body, heart and mind. It had taken her months to recover, although she was thankfully spared the unwanted complications of a pregnancy. It was then when Misao had seen the first glimpses of a cruel world, and consequently matured by force. In honor of her cousin's wishes, and with the wisdom that comes with learned lessons, Misao had decided to abstain from any sort of sexual relationship—even one with her husband, if it was not what she wished with her whole being. Misao couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief when he brought her to their shared quarters and saw that there would be separate futons. She was even more pleased to find that they would not move into that room until way after their marriage: Aoshi used the excuse that he would have to deal with some business and paperwork before he could shift his office to a room next door. Unrestrainedly smiling, Misao began to relax and take her surroundings into account—really, the Aoiya was a pleasant place to live in, and she was sure there would be plenty for her to do. 

Aoshi, on the other hand, felt a growing sense of tension gather in his abdomen. How would he keep his matters silent from this intruder? He watched several emotions fleet over her features: apprehension, determination, and then ease. Really, she was quite amusing to observe—she had all her thoughts out on her face for the world to see. Taking in her straightforward smile with a wry one of his own, he ran a hand through his hair. He had to admit he was glad they wouldn't have to share a bed either. Sharing a bed would possible prompt her to demand intimacies from him, an idea that seemed infinitely unfavorable to him at the moment. He was loath to take his office apart and risk betraying his other affairs to prying eyes, but it would seem not only rude to leave his future wife alone, but also suspicious. The last thing he needed was a town consensus that he was either afraid of his wife or had set his attentions elsewhere. Shaking his head ruefully, he waited for his fiancée to catch up as he took her to their last destination: Okina's garden. All he had to do was open the doors when Misao rushed out, eager to feel the sun on her skin and greet the wonderful sight with admiring eyes. 

"Kirei," she whispered as she noticed that even with the gray and somber sky, the garden seemed untouched in its noble beauty. Tall, burgundy maple trees, plum trees and beautiful sharp green grass met her gaze as she took in the vibrant colors with a genuine smile. The sun reflected everywhere on her, making her shine in golden splendor—even Aoshi noticed the transformation. _She is quite an outdoors person_, he noted briefly, _she will not grudge helping outside once in a while, then_. Taking a turn in the garden, the unlikely pair walked in quasi-companionable silence, with an interruption or two of Misao's delighted exclamations. Okina watched the two stroll with an amused smile, _Funny how she fell in love with my garden at first glance, but she seems to barely be able to stand the Okashira, who she is stuck with for life_. 

Did he know how to talk? Two days had passed, and she had barely ever seen him. When she had, he had uttered what was most strictly necessary, and then refused to converse anymore. It didn't seem like he was shy, nor was he abnormal in any other sense. _Maybe he is a bore_, she commented to herself lazily as she hung the wet laundry out in the fresh morning: _Oh well—it could have been a lot worse_. 

He sat back, looking out the window as he saw his betrothed hang the linen to dry in a smart smock over her working kimono to guard her from the cold. Of the few words he had shared with her, they were always so bland. Once he had fallen into silence, he waited to see if she would have anything more intriguing, keen, perceptive to talk about. So far he had been disappointed—he had little hopes for her intellect. He was never a great talker, and she seemed equally inclined not to inquire more about him than what was necessary. Even watching her was uninteresting: she seemed to be a simple, unquestioning type. Turning his gaze from the window, Aoshi began to concentrate on issues that interested him infinitely more than his fiancée. 

Both started with unfounded prejudices against one another, and both were to find that they were utterly _wrong_.

Chapter 2

Misao tugged unhappily at the folds of her wedding kimono. Who would have thought that she, a slip of a girl as of now would marry a man who was a decade older than she? Standing fully in front of a full-length mirror, Misao smiled dryly at her reflection: at least there were no dangers of her husband forcing himself on her—she looked a day over thirteen or so, she was not yet desirable. Grasping the end of her braid, Misao brushed the soft ends of her hair against her cheek pensively as she thought of the last moment she had shared with her closest confidant with a wistful, soft smile playing on her rouged lips. 

"How come you never got caught, Sano?" 

The two of them sat on a riverbank, watching golden fish swim past their submerged fingers. Her tall friend, who already showed the signs of maturation through his impressive height, well-chiseled features and deep voice laughed languidly as he turned to look at his petite friend: "Cause I'm too clever, Mi-chan."

"Mou, you're way too cocky."

"I'm justified: I can outwit you anytime. Besides, you're too saucy for your own good, none of the guys in town want to even approach you."

Standing up to her tallest, Misao looked up indignantly at her smirking brown-haired friend with flashing eyes, "But you associate with me, Sano! Isn't that going against what you just said?"

Sanosuke got up slowly, his face first below her, then level, then growing way beyond her reach as he towered over her with graceful ease: "No, I said none of the guys from town—that doesn't include me. I'm just a temporary inhabitant. I know what your worth is—I see it every time you laugh." 

Misao blushed uncomfortably—she hated it when he talked like that. Laughing nervously, Misao waved his comment off as she said, "Ano, just make sure the butcher doesn't connect the stench in his carriage with a certain rascal, eh? He already has suspicions—you should lay low for a while." 

"What? And kill all the fun? That's totally unlike you, Mi-chan!"

Misao flattened her unruly hair against her forehead as she flushed again, "I—I just don't want you to get hurt in any way, Sano." 

Sanosuke stiffened as he looked down at her gently, his turquoise eyes deep with undecipherable emotions as he said softly, "If it worries you, I won't." 

The two of them walked in awkward silence as the sun faded into the treetops, shrouding the pair in darkness with Sanosuke leading the way back to the Kamiya dojo. Misao stopped suddenly as she watched the approaching moon with large effulgent eyes, "Sano—I have something to tell you."

The tone of her voice put him off edge—it was the same voice she had used when she had given him a black eye, her eyes brimming with guilty tears as she apologized for hitting him so hard with the bokken. He let out a groan as he halted, keeping his back to her when he asked tersely, "What is it now?"

Misao winced; it seemed like breaking the news to him would be harder than she surmised. She; however, had dealt with harsher circumstances—she would not falter now: "Sano, I'm going to leave Tokyo." 

Wheeling around with an astonished expression on his handsome features, Sanosuke growled, "Nani?" 

"I am engaged to a man in Kyoto. It is an agreement that I cannot back out on; it was set by my father and his father, and I have already agreed to go."

The tall young man ran a hand through his unruly hair in frustration, "You don't even know his _name_. How could you sell yourself like that?" 

His last comment stung. Blinking back tears, Misao retorted, "I've been thrust into this situation at birth! There is nothing I can do! I won't allow any more criticism—especially from you!" Then, to her horror, she burst into angry, hot tears as she attempted to run away. He; however, had anticipated her next move, and caught her in his arms, pressing her to him feverishly as he stroked her hair. Moist sobs wracked her small frame as she vented her rage and found comfort in her friend's embrace. It was completely dark when she had calmed down enough to wipe her eyes with the last shred of dignity she had left and drew herself from him. Squaring her shoulders, Misao offered, "I'm going through with my promise. However, I will promise that if I am miserable at my husband's place, I will leave him and come back home." 

Nodding darkly as he peered into his friend's tearstained face, Sanosuke said, "Write to all of us regularly. I will try to visit you when business allows it. If he makes you unhappy, I'll whisk you away and bring you back where you belong..." Then, leaning over to tuck her hair behind one ear, he fingered her ear gently as he whispered, "with me." Shrinking back from his closeness, Misao nodded wordlessly before she ran back to the dojo, leaving her friend to mourn the loss of his best friend and first love in nocturnal solitude. 

She blinked back tears—it would not do for her to smudge her makeup after Okon had spent so much time applying it earlier. Standing by the window with her arms wrapped around her in an attempt to give herself comfort, Misao watched the wilting leaves fall off the maple trees with an ache: that was real love. Sanosuke had shown her his love when he let her go. She refused to accept any other form of lesser love from anyone; no, she would scorn any attempts otherwise. Bringing a finger to swipe a tear away, Misao clenched her fist as she glared determinedly at the swirl of blazing colors that met her eyes: she had thrown away her only chance at real love for the sake of a promise and convenience.

She cut a lonely figure by the window—probably bathing in self-pity. He had been standing by the door side for quite some time. When he had reached the doorway, she was already in deep thought in front of the vanity mirror, her reflection betraying her countenance. She was striking in the deep plum kimono, her face stark white and her lips painted dramatically. The way she was holding her braid childishly up to her face was the only gesture that betrayed the woman for what she truly was. She seemed to be absorbed in deep thought, not even taking notice of the intruder on her thoughts staring silently at her reflection. He scowled darkly—she wasn't daydreaming about some silly romantic notions, was she? His fears of her wallowing in fantasies about their marriage were halted when he saw her expression change into something deeper and her eyes tear up. No—she was going for the sorrowful effect. His eyes followed her as she walked up to the window, brooding as she lifted her hand up and flicked something away impatiently. Then, she suddenly clenched her fist and punched the wall on her side. Again and again—he watched her disapprovingly and sighed slightly; he would have to stop her before she broke her hand or damaged the wall.

"Emotions are foolish."

Whirling around with a fierce expression, Misao glared at the tall man at the entrance of her room—her husband-to-be. Her chest heaving as she looked at her bruised fist with little care, Misao arched her eyebrows in an attempt to regain her composure, "What did you say?" 

He crossed the room in a matter of seconds, his long strides bringing him by her side before she could blink twice, as he repeated in a rumbling, poised manner, "Emotions are foolish." 

Aoshi was quite surprised: how many times could this girl change on him? She had been the insipid child, self-pitying and unwilling bride, and now she was the great dame? She was standing in front of him with rigid posture, her eyes flashing—she looked quite formidable; anger complimented her features well. "I completely disagree," she said firmly, no hesitation in telling her husband a piece of her mind, "Without emotions, there is no point in life." 

Aoshi looked down at her with mild amusement, "Really? Enlighten me on your views." 

Misao returned his gaze severely, "If men were devoid of feeling, then there would be nothing they would believe in with feeling; nothing that they would find worth to defend and live for. Life is not given just for the sake of living, but for the sake of making the best of it in all aspects." 

"Then aren't you throwing yourself into a living death, so to speak?"

Misao smiled wryly—it would be dreadfully amusing if the longest conversation she would ever hold with her husband was a philosophical one, "In terms of love, yes. I don't have many hopes for love—I gave it up a long time ago. I do anticipate; however, some form of marital security and a way to sustain my family back home. After all," she added with a dry look, "this is a union of convenience, ne?" Giving Aoshi an arch smile, Misao reverted her gaze to the garden again, an implied message of her unwillingness to converse with him any longer. 

She was still fresh, untouched (for all he could tell) and child-like; how in the world had she gotten so mistrusting? His interest in her grew: perhaps there was more to her than what met the eye. Stepping forward so that he took a place by her side, taking in a view of the smoldering colors in the garden, Aoshi inquired, "Whose convenience?" 

Turning irritably, Misao asked, "Come again?" 

"Whose convenience will this union serve to bring?"

"Oh—ours, in the material sense. My father's business was promised to whoever marries me. He knew Sou-nii didn't have the touch for…such matters. Sou-nii is much more of a humanitarian: he would much rather work in the clinic with Megumi onee-san. That's right," she added smoothly once she saw Aoshi's eyes sharpen almost imperceptibly at her cousin's name, "Kamiya Megumi—victim of Takeda Kanryuu. Anyways, the business is yours—the only hope for the survival of his ideals rests with us." 

Aoshi stood in silence, absorbing her words. So she knew. She had infinitely grown in his interest. Blinking as a question flitted through his mind, Aoshi asked, "Is there anything in this for you?" 

Misao looked at him with indifference, her eyes measuring him up as she tried to decipher the reason for his sudden notice of her: "I'm doing it because of duty and for love." Aoshi's eyes flickered, a minute action Misao caught, making her smile slightly in response, "Oh no—not romantic love; like I said, I don't have time for such nonsense. It's for my family. I," she said with a fiery look in her eyes, "love them. If I could do anything to make them happy, I would. In this case, I am helping them keep their place in Tokyo and offering them some semblance of protection through the allegiance we are sealing today."

Aoshi held a moment of silence as he gazed at the falling leaves with guarded eyes and his arms crossed—the image of an insurmountable fortress, "We should go downstairs."

"Oh—is the ceremony starting soon?"

"Aah."

Heading for the stairs together, the mismatched couples went down to meet their guests, each lost in their own thoughts as they prepared themselves to make the most incompatible of unions.

Author's notes: What an unflattering beginning, eh? Sheer realism and hardheaded thinking…

I know, I know… Misao is OOC in this one (at the beginning, anyway), b'c she's just getting over the disappointment of her first love (she can't have Sanosuke). Nobody can stay cheerful all the time—she's only human, eh? By the way, I must say I really like Misao—she's so headstrong, real and natural that you gotta love her. I tend to like to portray her as less genki, though. A slightly more mature Misao… also a bit OOC, but what can I say? 


	2. Part II

_The Most Incompatible of Unions_ is my new pet project! Boo yeah! Anyways, this is a piece that will have five parts; hence, I will make them very large. I will try to write them during my most inspirational trains of thought… bottom line is, this story will take longer to get updated between the parts. I hope it comes off as a tasteful story worth reading. Please do not neglect to read and review!

Disclaimer: I do not own RK and I also do not own any of Jane Austen's works (hint hint).

Whoops… by the way, I meant to make Misao seventeen at the beginning of the story, not fifteen or sixteen (that was the age she was supposed to appear). Sorry for misleading you readers.

Part 2: Prejudice

Chapter 1

The wedding ceremony had been extremely private and rushed, almost as if the people in the Aoiya were anticipating some sort of predicament. By the end of the day, Misao faced the large, lonely room she was to share with her husband in dumb shock. Aoshi had skirted the festivities and went off to finish some sort of "urgent business", ending the wedding on a sour note. _But_, she thought to herself, _that is exactly what I would expect from a man like him._ Drumming her fingers idly on the tabletop, Misao grinned cheerily to herself all of a sudden—at least she had her own room to herself for now. Passing by the large room, Misao walked into her own temporary room. She approached her futon with a sleepy yawn, lifted the covers and slid in, grateful that she would not have to count on sharing the room with Aoshi for another month at least.

A month had passed without any torrential events or any blossoming of feelings on either side. Misao was a quick learner and clever—she used her time learning skills necessary to run the Aoiya and lend an extra hand to the workforce. Aoshi went along his business as usual—in the shrouded mist of the night and the dim safety of his locked study. Each found it incredibly easy to forget that the other was in fact present, only to come to reality whenever they dined with the others. The young wife didn't expect much more or less than what she had been given—it was horribly rustic to compromise children in arranged marriages these days; no one knew how the marriage would turn out. All she could hope for was a steady life that didn't bore her too much, yet didn't bring her a terrible amount of agitation, either. Kami-sama knew how much she detested changes.

And yet another unexpected turn presented itself when Aoshi summoned her to his study one frosty morning.

"I am to leave for business and won't be expected until the following year." 

Misao looked at him disbelievingly, but then masked her features, leaving only her eyes open. Those eyes, ocean-tossed and unfathomable, held equal ground with his as she gazed up at him in discreet scrutiny, "If it is necessary, there are no complaints that come from me." _Actually, it is quite the other way around_…

"I will try not to keep from home long, my lady." _And hope that you do not meddle in my affairs_…

Neither of them expected him to elaborate on his reasons for leaving. Misao simply bowed after wishing him a safe journey, taking the tray of tea accessories out with her as she quietly shut the door, and Aoshi resumed his work without another thought about the matter.

First snowfall had come two weeks after. Misao smiled cheerily—without the lurking presence of her husband, she felt fewer restraints to act the proper lady. She was not one to be crippled with something as insignificant as marriage; besides, she had earned her stay at the Aoiya. Few others could whip up a meal as efficiently and skillfully as she, and not many others had the drive to set things in an orderly fashion, either. She knew that Jiya definitely approved: she had caught him watching her work by a door side or through a window several times with an expression of mingled pride and respect. She, unlike many other women of noble heritage, had no qualms with getting down with the dirty work. Misao would do whatever it took to get things to run smoothly, and for that she rapidly earned the esteem of all her co-workers. It was not; however, alike with the heightened reverence they held for her husband. In their eyes, she was _human_—she laughed, ranted and sang like the rest of them; honest sweat often graced her brow when she stood by their side. No mysterious cloak of power or air of severe dignity was necessary for her. It didn't take long for the inhabitants of the Aoiya to grow fond of her impetuous ways and headstrong personality. She, in turn, responded to their love and encouragement like a flower in need of water, shedding much of her guarded unease and hesitant skepticism. Jiya, Okon, Omasu, Kuro and Shiro—they had become her leverage, her anchor and sustenance. With her husband at leave, Misao soon found her life revolving around the matters of the Aoiya. Thoughts of her family in Tokyo had not escaped her mind; rather, they had taken the second shelf in matters of importance now, which she reluctantly confessed to with a guilty conscience. Once she knew that they were being sustained by her new ties and well provided for, Misao had turned to her duty at the inn first. "Misao!" Okon had slipped into the kitchen, where Misao and Omasu had been preparing the morning porridge: "There's a letter for you!" Misao's heart leapt—a word from home?

Aoshi stood impassively in a secluded courtyard, his two kodachi barely noticeable from underneath his large trench coat. He seemed to be waiting for someone, and showed no surprise when the dark silhouette of a large man appeared from nowhere, followed closely by three others. Nodding his head in acknowledgment, Aoshi turned abruptly, leading the four into the shadows. He only felt truly alive when he was with these four in the night: this was his real life. Recalling Misao's words from their wedding day, he let a small smile curve on his lips: indeed, passionate beliefs were necessary for a purposeful life. What she hadn't considered was the fact that emotions were not necessary to carry out these beliefs. He put all his emotion in the beliefs themselves, and in his men; there was no need for excess feelings. Signaling for his men to stand vigilant, Aoshi stepped further into the shadows, blending into the midnight obscurity, even as his eyes gleamed in the nocturnal haze. 

Hannya's senses were alerted: they were surrounded. Stealthily bringing his right hand to rest on a katana, and his left to grab numerous kunai, he whispered in an undertone: "Danger." Aoshi picked it up, his eyes sharp and cold, reflecting the surface of his unsheathed sword. His men ceased running by his side as they automatically formed a defensive circle around their Okashira. Aoshi's keen eyes perceived slight movement in the trees to their right, his hand securing the hilt of his kodachi as he articulated clearly, "Come out." There wasn't any uncertainty; the command he had voiced was impossible to ignore, even for foe spies. 

Several men jumped from the trees, settling on the ground with subtle grace. Aoshi took in their appearances accurately—there were at least a dozen of them. Aoshi glared at them formidably before he said coolly, "State your business."

The man at center, who seemed to be too short and slender for a male, spoke up in a surprisingly fresh and soothing voice, "We belong to the Makimachi branch of the Oniwabanshuu, de gozaru yo." Lifting an eyebrow at the rustic way the person spoke, Aoshi signaled for the speaker to reveal his identity. The two men at his immediate right and left, a person with unruly brown hair and another with cropped black hair respectively, started slightly before the shorter man brought his hand up to restrain them and slowly shed his mask with the other. Once the cross scar was revealed; however, Aoshi frowned in surprise: what was the Hitokiri Battousai doing under the service of the Makimachi onmitsu? Battousai gave him an straightforward smile before turning to his two men and giving them a nod. The tall man with sharp brown hair was the first to peel off his mask, revealing the infamous Zanza. _When would the surprises end?_ Aoshi wondered as he waited for the last man to take his onmitsu mask off. The last man seemed the most reluctant, his slender hands hesitant as he unmasked himself: It was Makimachi Soujirou himself.

Aoshi lowered his swords, but not his guard, "Explain yourselves."

Misao ripped open the small parchment eagerly, recognizing Sou-nii's handwriting with a swift look. Settling back on the futon in her room comfortably, she prepared herself mentally for any sign of trouble.

**_Dear Misao-chan,_**

****

**_ Have you been eating well, lately?_** Honestly, did Sou-nii have to mother her even after she was a married woman?_ **I hope the people at the Aoiya are treating you well. You may wonder, with some apprehension, the meaning of this letter, especially when Kaoru-chan had written lately telling you of our well being. The tidings sent by your cousin are true—we are doing extremely well. What Kaoru-chan and Megumi had been reluctant to divulge to you I will most gladly reveal. Aoshi-san has been most gracious in getting rid of the Kamiya dojo's debts, as well as assisting Megumi and I with the rebuilding and financing of the clinic.** _Misao was flabbergasted: Aoshi had a heart? No, he must be doing all of this out of duty. **_The news I have to disclose to you is just between you and me, imouto-chan. A part of the arrangement that had been foreclosed by our fathers when they decided to wed you and Aoshi-san was the integration of our onmitsu clans. We have, after the wedding, become part of the Oniwabanshuu, as I had told you before. I encourage you to be discreet and not reveal your knowledge of this information to your husband: it would maybe be best if you didn't have a husband who suspected your every action for duplicity._** Misao cringed—that particular piece of advice came too late. **_I truly have no wishes to lead the Makimachi onmitsu clan no longer—even Sano-kun would bear a stronger hold on our men than I. I do; however, hold the temporary position as leader before we officially meet with Aoshi-san_.** **_As a result, I will lead our men to Aoshi, and hope for the best. It is a perilous time for the Oniwabanshuu, and the dangers we will face are now few. I tell you this out of respect for you: you deserve to know as much about the onmitsu business as I—you are the wife of the Okashira, after all. I would also like for you to know that Sano-kun, Kenshin-san and I will lead some of our men to meet your husband. _**Nani? What in the world did he mean by that? **_Take care and do not fret too much about us, little one. _**Humph, like he had left her any other alternative.****

**_With much love,_**

**_Soujirou onii-chan_**

****

Misao was astounded—since when had Sanosuke joined the onmitsu? Sure, he had always left town during odd times and given her lame excuses for his absences, but she had assumed that he had indulged in flings or left to have debts cleared for his excessive drinking and gambling. And what about Himura—the freeloader-rurouni who had stayed at the dojo for the last six months? Why was he involved in onmitsu affairs now? Misao shook her head in consernation: Sou-nii hadn't helped at all! Now she was left with burning questions she was aching to ask him. She had a feeling that, despite all her brother's good intentions, she had been left in the dark once more. The worst thing was that she would continue to be kept clueless: the only reliable source of communication about such affairs would come from her nii-chan; Aoshi had not and probably would not start to keep her updated with his business. Sighing heavily, Misao hid the letter amongst her undergarments (the only place it would be safe from prying eyes) and tried to dispel the unease that weighed her stomach down with dread. She closed her eyes with a faint shudder before coming across a solution: there was another person she could talk to about such matters. She rushed to her feet, opened her drawer and grabbed the letter, running out of her room and all the way down the halls, her voice painstakingly clear in the hush of the morning, "Jiya! I need to talk to you, now!" Grabbing the old man by the sleeve, she pointed at the letter, "Explain yourselves."

Chapter 2

The loud stomping of feet approaching his door had rudely startled Okina—luckily, he had already been awake for some time, and wasn't thrown off by Misao's sudden appearance. She flew to his side, her eyes dark and bemused as she ordered him haughtily to "Explain himself". Actually, she had said, "Explain yourselves". Did she mean the inhabitants of the Aoiya? After scanning the document she had practically sthrust into his face, he corrected himself deftly: no, she meant the Oniwabanshuu. Arching a dignified silver eyebrow, the aged man responded, "What would you like to know?" He would deal with Aoshi later if he had any opposition to keep his wife in touch with onmitsu matters. Aoshi was as equally blind concerning his wife as she was concerning him: he hadn't suspected that little Misao was not only knowledgeable but also formidable in the onmitsu arts. If Aoshi had taken some time to be curious about her, he would have chanced upon seeing the young woman train by herself in the early morning, her sprightly form executing innumerable moves with tireless grace. Clearly, there was more to Makimachi Misao than what met the eye, just how there was more to Shinomori Aoshi than what met _her_ eye. He knew she was a clever girl—sooner or later, she would figure out Aoshi's exact profession. What she would do in response was what Okina waited for with keen anticipation. 

"Onii-chan's in the deal, too. I need to know what Aoshi-san's doing for a year, and how Sou-nii, Sano-kun and Himura are tied into this. These are my men's lives at stake; it is imperative that I know what is going on."

Her men? Most conventional men and women thought it would be the other way around. Okina fingered his beard, already amused with his surrogate granddaughter, "Surely Aoshi has told you?"

"Aoshi-san?" Misao scoffed, "He doesn't tell me anything. He thinks that I'm… well, let's just say that he doesn't trust me, yet."

"Then why should I?"

Misao paused, her face lovely in its grave thoughtfulness. She turned her bright eyes to him, her voice clear despite her hesitation, "Because… you know the true me; the individual that is not tainted by preconceived prejudices. And if you know the me for what I really am, then you also know that I am trustworthy."

"And he does not?"

Misao played with the end of her braid, her face inscrutable, "No, he does not." 

All was silent—it seemed like even the sounds coming from the garden were muted as the old man observed the unusually quiet young woman in front of him. Suddenly, Okina let out a wide smile, unforced and warm: "I know you are trustworthy, Misao-chan." He was rewarded with a sun-drenched smile as Misao looked up at him with glittering eyes. The old man chuckled in return, patting her on the head, "Come, and settle down. I'll update you on Oniwa business, young one."

"I trust that you all know the risks you take?" 

Soujirou smiled fearlessly at his brother-in-law's words, "We all have already had our share of danger before. We are aware of the dangers we may run into, but I'll use this opportunity to offer my men an opportunity to leave once more." He turned to face the men clad in dark gray, his eyes open and understanding, "You may leave to your friends and families if you so desire; I will not force loyalty."

He saw that no man budged, and then he turned to Kenshin, "Himura-san?"

The red-haired man smiled gently but shook his head, "I promised Kaoru-dono that I would look after you for her."

Soujirou smiled sadly in response, clasping his shoulder firmly before turning to the tall young man by his side, "And you, Sanosuke?"

"I have been with you for the last few years, and I find that my original reason for joining has just been strengthened by the addition of another." 

Soujirou gave the ex-gangster a mild frown, but did not comment. Sanosuke turned his steady cinnamon gaze from his former leader's eyes to meet Aoshi's, a faint hint of a challenge lurking in its dark intensity. Aoshi's mouth twitched ever so slightly—he would find what was behind that expression sooner or later.

"I then welcome you all to the Oniwabanshuu." Aoshi uttered his greetings and shook hands with his wife's brother out of respect for proper conduct, but no warmth reached his eyes. "Come and join me for a meeting. It is time we made affirmative action against the growing illegal drug exchange." Soujirou and Kenshin exchanged discreet but dismayed glances—Kanryuu. 

The men followed Aoshi into hidden headquarters where they planned, trained and shadowed the clandestine actions of the drug black market for the next few months in seclusion under Aoshi's lead when Soujirou withdrew to Tokyo.

Misao held the shovel up with a strong arm. The sun winked faintly as she dug hard into the ground, dislodging weeds from Okina's garden. Turning to greet the sun and its warmth, Misao dropped the shovel as she lifted her hands to feel the novel warmth. Her eyes shone effulgently as she looked out into the horizon: _Sou-nii, Sano-kun… Aoshi-san, I'll be waiting for you, and when you come, you'll have to answer to me._ She bent over decisively to pick up the shovel, lifting her head once more to greet the arrival of spring; her face alit with determination. After her initial talk with Okina, the old man kept her updated with every letter from Aoshi. Misao now had a gist of what was going on, with the bits and pieces Sou-nii scattered in his letters, as well as the precise information Aoshi gave his trusted advisor. She had guessed Sanosuke's reasons for fighting for the Oniwabanshuu, but Himura? What drove him to fight for them, when the only excuse he gave was fulfilling a promise he made to Kaoru? Reasons or no reasons, she didn't like the direction the mission was taking at all—not only would it risk the men's lives, but it would bring attention back to Megumi again. Okina told her that Kanryuu's suspicions had been aroused; his actions were now more guarded, his exchanges fewer, and his products more expensive. If worse came to worse, Misao would drag Kaoru, Megumi and Yahiko all the way to Kyoto to brave out the storm together. 

Okina's eyes twinkled as he watched his stubborn wildflower battle with the roots of his garden. His lovely Misao had grown over the last few months, blooming into a grown woman, and the most amusing part was that she hadn't even taken notice. A handkerchief bound her hair simply and she wore a nondescript working kimono, yet she still shone among the budding flowers. He wasn't surprised that she had caught many of the young men's fancy in Kyoto for her open cheer and comeliness. _Definitely an improvement from last year_, Okina affirmed as he watched the young woman with fondness. And she was not growing only in attractiveness as he had discovered one morning. She had surprised him one morning, training steadily as she gritted her teeth in frustration. Misao stood alone in the dojo, her head bent as she frowned, trying to work out an intricate combination without tripping all over herself. She seemed to be going nowhere fast, and the stalemate she was engulfed in was driving her mad. Okina chuckled aloud, revealing his position by the dojo's door side as she stomped over to him with a frustrated expression: "Jiya! I need to learn more, or I'll die!" 

Okina bowed his head slightly as he questioned, "Why the need to learn more when you're already decent?"

Misao's eyes were unrelenting: "I _must_ be able to defend myself and the people I love."

"Have you taken into account that ladies are not expected to defend themselves? I am surprised your family allowed you to learn martial arts."

"Damn rules of propriety!"

At this, Okina threw his head back and barked with laughter. Misao blinked at him, her anger dissolving as she watched her surrogate grandfather laugh. She smiled—his good spirits were contagious. Waving at him impatiently, she asked, "Would there be anyone who could teach me more?"

Okina smiled widely, his body still shaking with laughter as he attempted to control his mirth, "Aoshi's sending Hannya home with some more men so they can keep the Aoiya under heightened surveillance—you may ask Hannya once he comes back."

Misao couldn't control her glee, and threw her arms around the old man impulsively, knocking the air out of him as she thanked him breathlessly. 

"Mi..sao…chan—_can't breath!_" 

She withdrew gingerly, her face panicked, "Oh no! Did I hurt you?"

Okina wheezed as he rubbed his ribs, "No, it's quite alright. Now be off with you, before I return your favor."

Her twinkling laughter echoed throughout the dojo, a flash of glossy hair flitting through the air as Misao took flight, "Arigatou, Jiya!"

Okina had always found something to smile about throughout his life, but being around Misao made the smiles come about easier. He shook his head ruefully as he watched her run towards the Aoiya—what a handful she would prove to be.

And she was. Watching her duel with weeds that were every bit as unruly as she, Okina massaged his temples—the way Misao was hacking at them with her shovel; he would be sure to see double the amount of the pesky plants the next year. 

True to his word, Okina sent Hannya to her the day after his arrival at the Aoiya a week after their Misao had demanded lessons from the old advisor. Misao was pleased and uncertain at the same time—she had never talked to nor seen Hannya before. She fumbled with the front of the training outfit she had put on, waiting quietly in the dojo in the quiet of the crisp morning. The young woman shivered; it was still quite early, and the winter twilight had not yet retreated, bathing her in dusk haze. She yawned—at this rate, she would be sleeping when Hannya-san came. Getting up sharply, Misao stretched, her lithe form flexible and potent in the dim light. Sharp jabs to the right and practicing the accuracy of her kicks, Misao soon became engrossed with her warm-ups, unaware of the dark figure that slipped easily from the mist into the dojo with her. Dark-clothed arms reached out rapidly to correct her punch, taking her by surprise when she heard a low, rumbling voice near her ear, "Easy there, you should incline your punches upwards slightly to get opponents in the solar plexus—you're slightly built, and chances are your adversaries will be taller than you."

Misao turned to face the dark stranger, wonder and curiosity evident in her face as she took in the tall man's horned mask and formidable appearance. The man stood immobile in front of her, charily searching her face for any signs of repulsion. He then bowed respectfully, his tone respectful, "Shinomori Misao, it is a pleasure and an honor to be asked to train the Okashira's wife." 

Misao blinked with consternation—not at the tall man who stood before her, but rather at what he called her, "Shinomori Misao-san… I suppose I am, ne?" She then brought a tentative smile on her face as she dipped in a curtsy in return, "And I, in turn, am most gratified by your decision to spend time and teach me how to fight. I understand that most men would disapprove of teaching women to fight, and I am glad that you are more open-minded than most."

"And of my appearance, are you not horrified or disgusted by it?"

Misao stepped nearer in an attempt to decipher what he exactly meant by that. Sensing his uneasiness, Misao laughed freely but gently, bringing a light hand to pat his large shoulder, "No, your actions will speak loudest for yourself." She then stepped back to relieve his discomfort at her pointed closeness, making him immediately think of an artless child, or a curious puppy. She couldn't be too sure of what she assumed she saw, but she had thought she observed her new instructor's shoulders loosen slightly, and she believed she could feel his eyes reach out to hers. Misao gave him another smile, but this one was out of friendship as she looked up at him, "You may call me Misao-chan. Indeed, I would find it odd if a mentor would refer to his pupil so formally." At her suggestion, Hannya gave her a barely noticeable nod before clearing his throat, "Well, Misao-chan, it seems you are quite at ease with your basics. Now, show me what else you have mastered."

Misao grinned cheekily before she turned and walked towards the swords rack at the side of the room, her eyes intent on a well-built shinai sitting amongst the sleek kodachi and katanas, "Why, if you insist, Hannya-sensei!" 

Okina was completely incorrect: she was not only decent, but talented as well. He stood leaning against the dojo's wall, watching her unleash her hidden power, a power no one would have suspected in such a delicate-looking woman. She unleashed her moves with the agile grace of a wildcat, her eyes flashing in concentration, the shinai she had taken in her hands impaling the air so forcefully that it howled. Her dormant power was so well concealed that he was sure that the Okashira had overlooked it as well. He clearly couldn't have known of this stunning woman he had unwittingly bound himself to; otherwise, he wouldn't have forgotten her with such indifference as he had when they were at work. Once in a while, Aoshi would ask Okina how his wife was through written correspondence, but he never brought her up in conversations, and chose to speak about her as little as possible, his bare eyes clearly showing how scarcely he thought of her. The Misao he saw was an even match for his Okashira, a woman fully able to meet his needs. Hannya's eyes glimmered with amusement—once he showed Aoshi how his little wife was with a raging battle ki flaming around her, he was sure some thoughts were bound to change. He took a step forward, signaling his new student to stop, "Enough, Misao. I can see that you have been well acquainted with the shinai. Now, how would you like to learn more about hand-to-hand combat?"

Chapter 3

Hand to hand combat—that was what the ambush had resorted to. Aoshi thrust his kodachi aside as he faced an arrogant man, whose smirk was so deeply set into his face that Aoshi doubted it would leave even at death. He chanced a glance to his side: the Battousai was wreaking havoc with his sakabatou, the history of which the homely ex-hitokiri had yet to reveal. Zanza was fighting with zest, his face alight as he grinned much like a young boy with a new toy. Good, at least he wasn't dragging the fight down. His three men Beshimi, Hyottoko and Shikijou were fighting back to back, their ruthless efficiency eliminating many of the opposing side. The other men he had brought were either dealing with the sentry outside or in search for the documents. The night was alive with the rustling of dead leaves and the lingering remainder of summer heat, which clung to the fighting men, nearly smothering them in its humid intensity. The smirking man, presumably the leader for the guard, charged at Aoshi with his sword already unsheathed and ready to strike, his battle cry ringing out most impressively throughout the mansion. Aoshi leapt aside with leonine grace, his two kodachi bare and gleaming in the dim moonlight. The man stopped his charge abruptly, turning to face Aoshi with the smirk still etched on his face, if not so sure and deeply engraved. Aoshi brought his swords up as he took an intricate stance, his eyes intent on his opponent as he proceeded to wipe him out. 

"Okashira-san!" Aoshi turned to one of his men as he wiped his swords on the elegant Persian rug that stretched over the hall's floor, "The documents are not here! Kanryuu left decoys with Meiou-san, who believed the documents were true until one of our men opened the case and found the papers blank. Meiou then slit his own throat." 

Aoshi nodded, frustration gleaming in his eyes as he ordered hoarsely, "Withdraw. There is nothing for us here." Crumbling the paper with his large fist, Aoshi felt a sharp pang in his chest—only deranged men would throw away lives so easily in order to mislead an enemy. He turned on his heel abruptly, ignoring Kenshin's searching look or Sagara's muttered curses. They would have to start from scratch once again. Suddenly, something flashed amongst the trees outside, a glimmer of indigo amongst the emerald pine thistles. 

Aoshi's eyes narrowed as he registered the sound of poison darts whistling through the air, Battousai's voice resonating in their dark surroundings, "Down, everyone! Shuriken!" 

Aoshi dodged a dart by a narrow gap, thrusting himself up into the air as he threw a punch and knocked the spy out of the trees. He held the onmitsu up by the shirtfront and holding him at swordpoint, "Speak now." 

The feral look in his eyes prompted the captive man to gulp audibly, his wild eyes taking in the setting fearfully. His eyes widened even more when they rested on the red-haired man close behind Aoshi, "Battousai," he whispered, horrified as he broke out in a cold sweat, "Alright, alright—I'll tell you. But only if you spare my life." Aoshi nodded slowly, all his attention focused on the trembling man before him, "Kanryuu-sama had a case sent to Meiou-sama, saying that he was sure that the Okashira of the Oniwabanshuu would strike at his mansion. He sent me out to scout the results of the ambush, and sent about one fourth of his men to Yukishiro-sama's place in Yokohama. I was not there to hear what happened with the rest of his men, but there were whispered rumors that a handful of men were sent to Tokyo, some more to the mountains north of Kyoto in Nagano and the rest directly to Kyoto itself." 

Kenshin stiffened, his eyes flickering with the slightest hint of amber as Sanosuke glowered formidably at the spy. Aoshi threw him back to the floor, his eyes ablaze—Kanryuu planned to strike directly upon the Oniwabanshuu's headquarters and its closest associates, mainly Misao's family in Tokyo. He turned to glimpse at his allies. Sagara's confident smirk was gone—his eyes aflame with rage, worry and something else Aoshi did not wish to interpret. Battousai—his head was bent, but when he looked up, his eyes were light, a curious mixture of golden flecks and violet fire. Aoshi nodded at his men, "To Kyoto. I believe Okina and Hannya had already expected such measures to be taken—Misao's relatives in Tokyo have already been sent for and received in the Aoiya." 

Misao frowned: a year had already passed since husband had left two months ago; it had passed two months ago, in fact, leaving her in a dire predicament none the wiser than she had been when she arrived at the Aoiya's gates in the late summer a year ago. She breathed out deeply, her eyes intent on the blaring colors in Okina's garden as she peered out the window, a solitary figure in the night. 

"What are you thinking about, Misao-chan?" 

Misao had frozen at the sound of an intruder's voice so close to her, but immediately recognized the voice: it was only Kaoru: "I'm just thinking about how quickly time had passed."

"Iie, I bet you're just hiding the fact that you miss your husband, ne Misao-chan?"

Misao scowled at the slender pony-tailed woman by her side, "How could I miss him? I haven't exchanged more than a dozen words with him since he left!"

Kaoru shrugged, "Well, is he handsome?"

Misao shifted on one leg as she nodded reluctantly. Seeing the sly look on her cousin's face, Misao's scowl deepened, as she growled in response, "Just because I agree that he is good-looking does not mean that I'm smitten by him. Out of all the people, I would expect you to be the least nonsensical."

Kaoru grinned good-naturedly as she ruffled her cousin's hair fondly, "Ai, Misao, why so defensive? Could it be that you really do…?"

"Enough from you!"

"What's with all the ruckus? Why, it's the itachi and the tanuki! Ohohohoho!" 

Both girls bristled at the sound of their oldest cousin's strident laughter as Misao narrowed her eyes and uttered through clenched teeth, "Why, Megumi onee-chan, it's so nice to have you drop by my room uninvited."

Megumi's senses were perked as she looked around the room with a foxy smile, "You mean the room you share with Shinomori-san, ne Misao-chan?"

Misao stuck her tongue out at her older cousin as Kaoru giggled, retorting saucily to her two cousins, "No, it's my room for now. He hasn't been here to claim it for the last year, so I can officially call it mine."

Megumi tossed her hair over her shoulder as she joined the two by the window; her beautiful eyes alit with humor as she murmured suggestively, "Are you saying that when he returns, he can have the room and you when he comes to 'claim' it?" 

Kaoru gave Megumi an approving look before the two of them glanced at a crimson Misao and burst into peals of merry laughter. Misao glared at her two cousins with her arms crossed over her chest, looking put out as she grumbled about the injustice of having the two of them gang up against one and the provocative thoughts of unmarried spinsters. Light footsteps were heard as the girls ceased their mirth and turned to greet the intruder. It was Soujirou, who smiled genially, "Girls' night out?" 

"Haha," Kaoru said dryly, "very funny, especially since this window's not enough to let all three of us look outside." 

Soujirou, Hannya and Okina had forbidden that the girls leave the Aoiya, and had in fact closed down the inn under the pretense of undergoing massive reconstruction of the bathing rooms. The only contact they had with the outside world was their men's messages and the windows scattered throughout the inn. Soujirou smiled even wider and opened his mouth to respond when his eyes widened suddenly and he pushed Misao, Megumi and Kaoru out of the way, his voice shouting an alarm, "Look out! It's an ambush!" 

As soon as the words had left his mouth, a shower of shuriken littered the room through the open window, making the women cry aloud in surprise. The sound of pounding footsteps and harsh shouts rang throughout the Aoiya as the Oniwabanshuu ran out to confront the assailants. Okina appeared at the door, his face urgent and distressed: "Is anyone harmed?" 

Misao threw a quick glance around the room—Megumi, Kaoru… Sou-nii! She ran to his side, finding him immobile and breaking out in cold perspiration, "Sou-nii's been hit!" She cast a look at Megumi as she ushered Kaoru to follow Okina to safety, "Megumi onee-chan, come here. I think the shuriken had been dipped in poison. Can you treat him?" 

Megumi appraised him critically before she affirmed resolutely, "Let's take him downstairs, Misao. Then can you get my medical kit and Soujirou-kun's totebag? There should be a leather-bound book in it—I'll need that book." Misao nodded firmly as she ran to the window and shut it closed, running to Megumi's side so that the two of them proceeded to drag Soujirou downstairs.

Aoshi looked onwards severely, rushing on horseback to the Aoiya through the dark of the night. The sound of alarmed cries met his ears as he reached the gate. Jumping off the horse swiftly, Aoshi ordered for his men to dismount, signaling to Kenshin and Sanosuke to take their respective groups and surround the Aoiya, gesturing for Beshimi, Hyottoko and Shikijou to follow him directly into the Aoiya. The greeting of his brethren reached his ears stalwartly, and Aoshi had never been so glad to hear their raised voices than at that moment. Nodding to the following Oniwabanshuu, they separated, intent on protecting their territory. Aoshi rushed stealthily into the opened doors, his eyes searching the well-lit corridors as he looked for any sign of intruders or inhabitants alike. The barely audible sound of muffled footsteps reached his ears from behind as he spun around, swords drawn to see Kenshin and Hannya at the doorway. Hannya crept forward and said in an undertone that Sanosuke and the other Oniwabanshuu were dealing with the outside aggressors, so he had come with the Battousai to help Aoshi with the inn. Aoshi nodded, signaling for the men to break down into pairs or groups of three and spread out. Aoshi took the stairs, flanked with Kenshin and Hannya on both sides. They were immediately assailed on the top of the stairs by a handful of gray-clad onmitsu. Kenshin told at Aoshi to go ahead and find Misao and the girls, taking on the ninjas with Hannya by his side. The tall okashira nodded before he heard a feminine shriek, running hurriedly in the direction of the outburst with his naked swords in his hands. 

He was not prepared for the sight that met his eyes. An unfamiliar woman was holding a man close to her heart in horror, her eyes fixed on a slender figure that separated them from several rapidly advancing onmitsu. The petite person brought bare fists up in a familiar kendo stance, and Aoshi realized with sudden shock that the person was Misao. She had her back to him, straight-backed and solid in position as she murmured huskily, "Is that the best you can do?" She then ducked, evaded a blow to the head, lowering herself gracefully and tripping the man neatly before. She stood up rapidly to deliver a kick in the groin to another, sweat trickling down the bridge of her nose and her hair in wild disarray. She punched the fallen man fiercely before she jumped to the side, cursing slightly as she tore at her kimono, widening the skirts so she could move with more ease. She dodged a jab in time to catch a well-built man in the ribs, making him fall over with the impact of her hit. Aoshi recovered from his shock at the precise moment he saw an undetected man come at her from behind, which made the unfamiliar woman cry aloud in warning, but it wasn't necessary, because the Okashira had knocked him down in an instant. Misao had just finished knocking another onmitsu over and had turned with wide eyes to find Aoshi but a hairsbreadth away from her, the muscles in his arm unclenching from the powerful blow he had just delivered. The cry of a charging opponent made Misao's attention snap back into action as she methodically took down each man confidently, certain that Aoshi was covering her back for her as she fought. Soon enough, all enemies had fallen, making the couple the victors of the skirmish. Misao turned to give Aoshi a short bow of greeting before rushing to Megumi and Soujirou: "Megumi onee-chan, let me help you. We still need to get downstairs. Actually, Aoshi-san, could you help Megumi onee-chan? She needs to help me find her supplies." 

Aoshi peered down at his wife with guarded surprise—since when had she matured so much? Not once had she uttered a word that was unnecessary—most impressive. She had handled ninjas smoothly by herself, kept a cool head throughout the conflict, and was still clearheaded enough to go right back into business. He slung Misao's unconscious brother over his back, using one arm to support him and another to wield a sword. He gestured for the women to follow behind, but Misao joined him by the side, giving him a pointed look, "You can't handle all of them by yourself, Aoshi-san. Besides, you need me to direct you to where the medical kit is." Aoshi gave her a curt glance of consent before walking briskly down the stairs, Misao flanking his side with her ocean-sprayed eyes acute with focus and the lady doctor following close behind, her gait steady and precise. When they had reached the end of the stairs and turned around the corner, a hidden ninja had leapt out at them, eyes wild with murderous intent. Aoshi reacted swiftly, bringing his sword in an upward thrust, but Misao beat him to it, cutting him down with his other kodachi with a smooth swipe. Misao grimly wiped the sword on the fallen man before continuing on towards Megumi's room, missing Megumi's astounded look and Aoshi's raised eyebrow, "Let's go; Sou-nii needs attention, now."

Author's note: What a romantic reunion, ne? Woo hoo… the fighting scene was SO much fun to write! I should do more of these… I love writing kick-ass Misao scenes! 


	3. Part III

Part III: Sense

Chapter 1

            Kaoru licked her lips in anticipation, keeping her brother behind her as she wielded… a kitchen knife. _Shit_, she thought in frustration, _if only the dojo wasn't so far away from the inn proper_. Several men had her cornered against the kitchen sink, their leering expressions more than enough to make her blood boil. She was the master of the Kamiya Kashin Ryu, dammit—handling troublemakers should be no problem. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead, threatening to fall into her eyes. She couldn't lift a hand to clear it; however, for fear of a low handed attack. Kaoru gritted her teeth together as she awaited the onslaught. One of the men stepped forward, his dark eyes full of anticipation as he said coaxingly, "Hey jou-chan, surrender and we'll make this evening a lot more… pleasant for you." 

           Kaoru narrowed her eyes and said steadily, "Over my dead body." The man shrugged, still wearing that idiotic smirk, and charged. 

            Misao led the way nimbly, her long, black braid trailing behind her as she guided the Okashira, the lady doctor and her unconscious brother to the guest rooms. Suddenly, Megumi let out a sharp cry from behind. Misao swerved around, her eyes wide with surprise as she registered an enemy ninja, who had crept behind her cousin undetected and now held her hostage with a dagger to her throat. Aoshi moved subtly as if to settle Soujirou on the ground, only to stop when he saw that the ninja pressed his dagger tighter against Megumi's vulnerable flesh. The lady doctor stood rigidly still, mute even as a lone tear trickled down her cheek. Misao stood stone silent for a moment—it was a standoff. Suddenly she saw something glisten on the ground—_then again, maybe not_. Not even daring to look at Aoshi, Misao slowly dropped her weapon and lifted her hands up in the air. The ninja smirked in grim satisfaction—Kanryuu would be pleased if he exchanged the lady doctor for the Okashira's wench. She would be a more important captive, since Takani sensei had already been sucked dry of her use. He thrust Megumi towards Aoshi at the same time he reached for Misao, the dagger steady in his hand, glimmering menacingly. Misao went silently as Aoshi's countenance darkened slightly. Suddenly, Misao dropped to the ground, picking up the kodachi with a swipe of her arm, and she jutted the sword's hilt forcefully against the floor, propelling her rapidly against the slick floor. Aoshi's eyes widened to a slight degree when he acknowledged the liquid that tainted the hem of Misao's kimono: blood. It must have been blood spilt by Soujirou as they carried him to safety. Misao slid into her opponent with a jolt before he could even register what was going on. With a grunt he fell over, and with a savage blow to the head, Misao succeeded in knocking him unconscious for at least a few hours. Aoshi observed his wife in motion with concealed surprise—that had been a brilliantly calculated move. He would have to put time aside to talk to her later.

Misao turned to Megumi and Aoshi, her expression stern in the dim light, her raven hair disheveled and wild against the pale porcelain of her skin. The hard glint in her eyes escaped suddenly; however, as she approached her cousin, who was trembling by now, holding her slender hands to her throat. Aoshi watched as his petite wife wrapped her slender arms around her cousin in a fierce yet soothing embrace. The lady doctor let out a few hoarse sobs as Misao stroked her hair, whispering words of comfort that only the other woman could hear. She scowled into Megumi nee-san's hair. It wasn't fair that innocent women like her cousin had to be exploited over and over again. When she had seen the man hold the dagger to her kinswoman's fragile, slender throat, Misao had nearly lost her cool. She could not and would not stand such abuse anymore. She released her cousin gingerly, murmuring words of comfort and strength. Then, turning pale and intent eyes on her the rooms beyond Aoshi, she once again resumed the lead, but this time she brought Megumi close behind, holding her hand in a comforting grasp behind her as she turned in the hallway and past the next corner. Aoshi followed mechanically, his senses concentrated on any other intruders and the battle of ki raging throughout the Aoiya. Misao soon found the room Megumi had been residing in, and had Aoshi deposit the fallen man on the futon. A hoarse shout followed by a shrill feminine cry ripped through the air. The young Okashira's wife jumped to her feet and Megumi paled significantly as the two women exchanged worried glances—Yahiko-chan and Kaoru. Aoshi turned and went through the door resolutely, only pausing slightly to turn and address his wife tersely: "Misao, stay and guard your cousin with the other kodachi. Lock the door and only open it if you hear me or Okina." 

Misao nodded mutely and watched him leave with heavy eyes, her heart soaring out to her family and friends outside. When she turned, her throat heavy with unshed tears, she noticed that Megumi was already going through her medical kit, her eyes dry and her movements steady. The physician stopped in her actions momentarily to ask coolly: "Misao-chan… are there any bandages I could use?" 

Misao smiled wryly as she leaned over to comply by tearing off part of her under kimono: "You'll have to make do with pieces of torn cloth."

Megumi looked at the proffered rag and frowned professionally: "I guess it'll have to do. It's better than having Soujirou-kun bleeding to death." Misao was not appalled by the blunt harshness of the other woman's words. On the contrary, she felt relieved—it seemed like Doctor Takani had taken over as of now.

            Kaoru watched the men charge with a determined expression. Taking a stance steadily, Kaoru aimed her knife and awaited the opponents with a firm spirit. Yahiko could barely restrain himself as he saw his sister jeopardize herself for his sake. No, he would not let her waste her life like that. He stepped away from her, taking up a stance as well as Kaoru looked over at him with panicked eyes, "No, Yahiko! Stand back!" The boy ignored his sister as he focused his hard gaze on one of the approaching onmitsu. A moment stretched over an eternity in Kaoru's eyes as she lunged for her brother, knocking him from harm as she anticipated the searing pain of an embedded sword on her unprotected body. The impaling blow never came. Kaoru's eyes snapped open as she registered the rampant rage of her friend Kenshin. But was it really Kenshin? From the way his eyes glittered amber in the moonlight, Kaoru felt with unease that he wasn't the person she had gotten to know for the last two years. She edged against the kitchen wall, holding Yahiko closer to her as she watched him approach her, his sword still drawn by his side. Wincing, Kaoru shrank from him, her breath caught in her throat as she watched him for his next move. He stepped closer, closer—soon he was crouching before her, his eyes darkening to a violet hue as he gently smiled into her face, "Kaoru-dono, daijoubu?" Kaoru exhaled in relief as she nodded furiously, suddenly overwhelmed by the night's incidences. The barely audible sound of feet approaching the kitchen had Kenshin on his feet again, his expression dark as he stood protectively over Kaoru and Yahiko, wielding his sakabatou with feline grace. Kaoru couldn't see if the incoming person was friend or foe for a few excruciating seconds, but she saw Kenshin visibly relax and let his sword arm fall to his side as he murmured, "Aoshi-san."

            Kaoru tried to get rise feebly, which made Kenshin wheel around and gently help her to her feet. She looked up and found herself gazing into the most icy, unapproachable pair of blue eyes she had ever seen. Her heart plummeted—this was the man her blossoming cousin had been handed over to? His gaze flickered over her countenance for a second before he turned to Kenshin with a grim look, "Battousai, the assault is over."

Chapter 2

            Misao had never felt so sore in her entire life—opening one weary eye slightly, she winced as she sat up slowly, gritting her teeth when she felt the muscles lining her torso and her thighs screaming in protest. The young woman rubbed her eyes sleepily, blinking owlishly at the sunlight filtering through the uncovered window. She started suddenly, ignoring the ache of her youthful limbs; the sun was already high up in the sky: she had slept in till noon! She brought a slender, battered hand up to her temples, rubbing them gently. Flashbacks of the night's ambush flitted through her mind in agitated procession. Jiya, Sanosuke and the rest of the Oniwabanshuu had taken care of the external invaders, while Hannya-san and Himura had dealt with the internal ones with Aoshi. Megumi onee-chan and Sou-nii were saved in the nick of time by her husband. She had heard that Himura had also saved Kaoru and Yahiko-chan by a hair, as well. She let her hand drop to her side—she had stayed up most of the night helping Megumi onee-chan with Sou-nii, even when the fighting had subsided. She had refused to rest until she was positive of her brother's safety and had shortly afterwards, at her cousin's gentle suggestion, sat down on a chair to "take a breather". Someone must have carried her upstairs, because she had awoken in the bedroom she was to share with her husband. Misao suddenly felt wary and looked over, noticing with a relieved sigh that she wouldn't have to share a bed with her husband—the separate futons made sure of that. She got up swiftly, passing the full-length mirror in her attempt to rush to the door. Stopping abruptly, Misao took in her haggard and tousled appearance with a startled intake of breath. She stepped closer to the mirror, noting the way she had bags under her eyes, how sallow her skin looked, her hair in what probably were irreparable tangles. Her hands… lifting them up to the mirror in horror-struck fascination, she saw that they were covered with violently colored bruises. Letting cerulean eyes trail over her reflection in dissatisfaction, Misao's eyes took in her dirt-streaked face and trailed down to settle on what seemed to be a brown stain on the bottom of her kimono and sighed: now she would have to go through the troubles of hauling her sore body downstairs to take a bath.

             Sanosuke lounged against a wooden wall, his long legs draping over the polished floor as he watched Jou-chan and Yahiko argue peevishly, his mouth upturned in an easy grin. A few paces away from the bickering siblings, Kenshin was smiling calmly as he sipped his tea, engaged in polite conversation with Okina and Hannya. He gazed at his bandaged fists, his grin deepening as he remembered how irked the kitsune onna had been when she had seen the condition of his hands earlier that morning—she had erupted violently, sending sparks into the air as she muttered about persistently stupid men. Go figure. Afterwards he had inquired about Misao, but Megumi had abruptly turned paler and quieter, telling him to let his friend rest; she had experienced a tough night. Before he could utter another word, the fox doctor had retreated, her face crumbling as she muttered some excuse about tending to Soujirou-kun. He lost his roguish expression temporarily as he contemplated about his first love and his closest friend, wondering how married life was treating her—how Shinomori was treating her. It was a good thing that the Okashira seemed to be a major prig; he wouldn't take kindly to the idea of another man touching his Misao. _His_… he wondered vaguely when he would be able to call her "his" aloud. He gazed up at the ceiling, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of his heart. Honestly, if he could be rid of this numbing sensation, he would. It was a nuisance, being in love with a married woman. The young man clenched his fists tightly as he gazed gloomily into the space before him. He couldn't look at Shinomori; if he did, he was sure the extent of his resentment would be easily detected. No, he would restrain himself and watch—like a circling hawk keeps vigil of its territory. With barely contained impatience, Sanosuke pushed away from the wall and sauntered down the hallway, missing Kaoru's knowing look and Aoshi's wry expression as he withdrew from the abruptly hushed lounge. He ambled down the narrow corridors, and his cinnamon eyes dark, brushing the knuckles of his left hand against the wall in absorbed contemplation. He turned a corner, the flash of the white walls before him obscuring as a swift, slender figure bumped into him unexpectedly. The force of the collision made the other person ricochet off the young man's hard body, and he reached out reflexively, grasping the person by the waist. His eyes widened in dim astonishment when he saw that the person he had caught was the focus of his previous thoughts: "Damn, Misao—can't you watch where you're going?"

            The young woman, whose eyes were equally wide in her peach-shaped face, looked at him in speechless surprise, her mouth parted slightly as she stared openly. She seemed to register his irked exclamation; however, because she soon narrowed her clear eyes and responded scathingly, "S-Sanosuke! You should watch where you lug that big body of yours! Why, you could run over squirrels without even noticing it—you're so dimwitted." At this retort, both friends smiled at each other, the ice broken. 

            Sanosuke laughed at his friend, his eyes warm and powerful at the same time as he taunted her gently, "Can't you ever greet me with a kiss and a smile, like a good girl would do?"  

            At his teasing, Misao suddenly tensed, her eyes guarded and her head tipped downwards as she whispered softly yet imperatively, "Sano, let me down."

            Sanosuke dropped his teasing manner and gently put her on her feet, his manner distant and shielded as he stepped away, giving her a wary distance. Misao sighed in dismay—she hadn't meant to scare him off that much. Things were so much more complicated now that she had married—the life without inhibitions, the easy banter she had shared with her best friend: all was compromised for this inadequate union. She bit her lower lip in frustration, lifting her hand hesitantly up to Sanosuke. He tensed immediately, making Misao halt for a moment, but her expression steeled and softened at the same time, her eyes pleading as she continued to lift her hand to his face. Resting the palm of her hand against his cheek, Misao felt tears rush to eyes, unwarranted, as she murmured contritely, "Sano, I'm sorry. It's… it's just that life's so much more complicated now. Although I am not happy," she saw Sanosuke's eyes light up with sudden hope as he covered her hand with his, and shook her head, continuing blindly, "I cannot compromise my marriage. I am indebted to Aoshi-san—much more than I had ever expected. I can never allow myself to… Sano, he saved my life and all the lives of those who matter to me. I cannot be selfish any longer." 

By now her shoulders were shaking and she gave in to deep sobs, covering her face as she tried to force her love away with the rush of her tears, wishing vehemently that her weeping could rinse her of this throbbing sensation in her chest. Sanosuke was silent; Misao could not see his expression as she cried into her hands, hoping and dreading that he had left her in his own pain. She cried all the more bitterly, feeling the loss of his presence acutely. But she was not to be disappointed—the overwhelming yet heady weight of his arms could be felt around her; he had pulled her to him in order to offer her solace. She fought feebly against his grasp, but the weight of his arms around her was wonderful decadence. Finally, the young kunoichi sagged into his embrace, her sobs reduced to soft, choking gasps as she tentatively wrapped her own arms around his waist. She felt Sanosuke withdraw a hand from the small of her hand and lift it to tip her chin upwards. She did not avoid his eyes, giving him a wobbly smile as she hiccupped, "I-I'm sorry, Sano. I've soaked your shirt through… Perhaps we should—" her words were broken off suddenly as her stomach churned in shock. His mouth had invaded hers, his tongue thrusting past her parted lips and teeth to jostle against hers. Yet hers was retreating as Misao struggled frantically against his adamant hold, growing more and more desperate against his unyielding grip. She resolved to take aggressive measures and bit his lip, hard. He released her with a low growl, his eyes wild as he brought a hand up to his bleeding lip. With her chest heaving, Misao gazed up at him, remorseful and indignant all at once as she panted, "That was strictly forbidden. Do not do that again." Before Sanosuke could answer, she had spun on her heel and left him, breaking into a panicked run as she ran for the bathing rooms, her hair fluttering behind her.

            Her face would not cool down. Scowling at herself in frustration, Misao savagely pinned the wet linen, her face flushed a telltale crimson. The sun shone golden and rose against the clouds, the warm spring breeze subsiding into faint signs of the nighttime chill to come. The glow of the setting sun cast a fair shine over Jiya's garden, bathing her in the soft light as she set up the clean laundry to dry. None of these pleasant images did much to settle her distressed mind, however, as she continued to worry about the morning's incident with Sanosuke. 

            His shoes barely made an imprint against the vigorous, green grass. The Okashira stood in Okina's garden impassively, not allowing any sound or movement betray his presence to his preoccupied wife. She was too absorbed to detect him, her quick hands hanging the unblemished laundry to dry. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes troubled, even as the warmth of the sun played on her features, bringing out the unassuming beauty of the young woman before him. He knew what was troubling her. He had seen Sagara withdraw impatiently from the living room, only to rejoin the group at lunch, his lip torn and swollen as he wolfed down his food. Misao had stared at her hands or her bowl the entire time, her face tinged with the slightest hint of pink as she sat in unusual silence. He watched her now, still blushing, even after the day had nearly passed. Those pale, slender hands were stained with plum-colored bruises, evidence of her struggle with the invading onmitsu of last night's ambush. The color of those marks disturbed him. They were unhealthy and dark, bringing images of the unpleasant night before. Her narrowed, determined eyes, burning with a fire so much more intense than he had expected from her. Then again, she had surprised him more than once that night: her coolness under fire, her battle prowess and the deep love for her kin, a love he had never seen her demonstrate until then—all of this had shaken up his simple if not unworthy reflection of her in his mind. He would have to start all over with her again.

            Hair fell into her eyes. _For Kami-sama's sake_, Misao thought as she pushed it aside impatiently, _even pulling it back with a handkerchief doesn't work_. The young woman let out a wistful sigh before tossing the cascading locks of hair over her shoulder casually. Picking up the empty laundry basket, she hefted it against her chest, turned around and promptly dropped it with a strangled shriek. Aoshi looked down at her from a comfortable distance, his eyes undecipherable as he watched his wife recover from the surprise he had elicited from her. He supposed, looking at her from that particular angle, that she had what quite a few would readily agree to some kind of prettiness. _To a certain extent, anyway_, he added dryly as he watched an ungainly blush redden her face to the shade of a tomato. She instantly ducked down; unruly bangs unable to hide her flaming cheeks as she set the fallen basket upright and shot up immediately afterward, wringing her hands fretfully. "Mou, Aoshi-san," she spoke up uneasily after a moment of prolonged silence, "It would not do for you to kill your wife out of fright." 

She then attempted to smile weakly, sighing when the expected response didn't come. Hesitantly, she leaned over once more to pick up her basket—if he had nothing to say to her, it would be best if she made her way to the Aoiya. Before she could even touch it; however, Aoshi detained her actions by inquiring coldly, "Have you seen to those bruises yet?"

Misao looked up into his eyes with open surprise, her mouth slightly ajar and her ocean-swept eyes wide: "N-no, I haven't had the time to do so."

The tall man regarded her with icy eyes, brutal in their concise dissection, making his wife feel overwhelmed and distant at the same time. He then nodded and said simply, "I will have Okina acquire some hand guards for you, as well as other useful equipment befitting an Okashira's wife."

The petite woman gazed up at him with an unreadable expression for a few seconds, then broke unexpectedly into sunny warmth, her smile genuine and radiant, even when her words betrayed nothing more than the expected degree of conventional politeness: "Domo arigatou, Aoshi-san; that was very considerate of you."

The gas lamp was warm and light in her hand, illuminating her face with a golden sheen as she carefully inched her way to Sou-nii's room. Finding the door slightly ajar, Misao smiled at the sight that met her eyes. Her brother was sitting up in his bed, observing the moonlight with a faint smile on his face. Misao knocked faintly on the door to alert him of her presence, relishing the way his expression lit up when he recognized her by the door: "Mi-chan, come in!" 

Carefully placing the gas lamp on the stool by his bed, Misao gave him a grave look and then suddenly leapt into his arms, "Sou-nii, don't scare me like that ever again!" 

Soujirou let out an "oof!" at Misao's sudden attack that was followed with gentle laughter as he ruffled his only sister's hair fondly, "Did you worry much, imouto-chan?" Misao nodded violently, her expressive marine blue gaze threatening to overflow with unshed tears. Suddenly, it was all too much—crying weakly, Misao buried her head against her brother's chest, taking comfort from his familiar warmth. Soujirou looked down at her bent head with alarm at first, but after a few moments, he relaxed, a calm smile replacing his look of concern as he soothingly stroked her hair. When her sobs soon diminished into small mewling noises and moist breathing, Soujirou ventured to ask, "Daijobou, Misao-chan?"

His sister lifted her head to give him a teary smile, "I'm sorry, Sou-nii—it seems like all I did today was cry."

"Why?"  
            "I find…" Misao hesitated, focusing her eyes on her bruised hands as she clenched the cover of Sou-nii's futon, "I find that life has been overwhelming for the last few days. This ambush, the stress… I'm just taking it hard." How could she tell her brother that she did not love her husband, and that in fact, her childhood sweetheart had just kissed her that morning? She avoided his searching eyes, hoping he wouldn't guess at what made her blush so suddenly.

"Does this have anything to do…" suddenly he flushed himself, "with your marriage?"

Damn, thought Misao as she scowled at him, right on the spot. She covered her unhappiness with a roguish look that made her brother color even more: "What?" she asked innocently, "Why are you turning all red?"

Soujirou laughed uneasily, the color spreading to his forehead, but he sobered suddenly, his gray eyes intent and critical: "Do not betray Aoshi-san's trust. We are greatly indebted to him."

Misao felt her stomach churn and swore that she could feel her lips burn with shameful reminiscence, "I would never dream of it."

**Author's note**: Um, yeah… the updates I make tend to be large, since they're parts, not chapters. If they were a lot to take on one go, it would be better just to read one chapter at a time (actually, it was intended for readers to do so, almost like online mini e-books).


	4. Part IV

Part IV: Persuasion

Chapter 1

            Two weeks had passed with no heightened surveillance and no ground gained on Kanryuu. Spring went on, light and unperturbed by the curling tension that coiled in the Aoiya. The lethargic falling of sakura and white plum blossoms had the grounds of Kyoto littered with its own fragrant, seasonal snow. Aoshi had cautiously sent his four best men to shadow Kanryuu's state of affairs once more, and all they had been doing was anticipating the news and priming their skills for an eventual face-off. Misao sat in listless silence, unaware of the light petals that crowned her dark, unruly hair, lifting her legs to make the swing go higher. She looked like an elfin princess or some fairy-sprite, absorbed in a play world of swirling petals and enchantingly vivid green grass. Except that she was not enjoying herself. Okina watched her thoughtfully from a nearby window ledge, stroking his beard as he shook his head ruefully. _She should be mooning over matters of love_, he told himself with a wry smile, _not the matters of a ninja_. He leaned further out of the window, his head poking out as he called out: "Misao-chan!" 

The young woman jolted out of her gray reverie and broke into an automatically unrestrained and golden smile, waving furiously, "Jiya! Konnichiwa!" 

The old man grinned in response, his dark eyes twinkling as he opened the window all the wider and leapt out of it, landing nimbly on the soft grass. Misao rolled her eyes even as she clapped for him: _show-off_… The older man always claimed that he still had the vigorous strength he had possessed in his youth, and often performed silly yet physically taxing tricks to prove it so. And the girls? They would always half-heartedly give him their praise, their fondness for the old man overcoming annoyance with a smile. The advisor of the Okashira brushed off his uniform and walked over briskly to the young woman seated on the swing, "What is going on in that pretty head of yours, Misao-chan?" He smiled roguishly, twirling the end of his beard with long fingers, "Surely not on matters of love, eh?" The young girl reddened to such a state that Okina smiled all the more broadly—so she _had_ been mooning over spring affairs. Perhaps there was hope for the Okashira after all… He chuckled lightly, "Has a certain man been occupying your thoughts?"

Misao smiled sadly at this. Oh, if he only knew which man it had been, the old man would lose the smile on his wizened features instantly. She opened her mouth to respond quietly when the silhouettes of several men appeared out of nowhere. She leapt out of the swing and narrowed her eyes, seeing that the old man had already done so—Okina had already noticed the presence of these men and had whipped out his fists, face set. The darkened figures of the men lurched and the sun caught on a pale white and ghastly mask. _Hannya-san! _Misao felt her heart stop as the two of them rushed over to the Okashira's right-hand man. They saw the other wounded figures leaning against furiously flowering trees, their features battered and breathing troubled. She looked at them with a critical eye before exchanging a critical look with Okina and taking off, in search of Aoshi.

Sweat iced his brow, his mouth set in a grim line as he followed the movement of his swords, eyes closed as he felt his own aura, coming in touch with himself. The moments when he could connect his own inner force with the movements he made brought him immense satisfaction; that was when he knew that he had complete control over himself, both mind and soul. His instant of peace came crashing down; however, when he heard the hasty pattering of feet in the dojo and sensed the ki of his wife. Turning around slowly, Aoshi sheathed his swords, his cold eyes flickering over the form of the young woman. She was out of breath, her sea-tossed eyes flashing. She rushed over to him and grabbed his arm, all etiquette forgotten as she said hurriedly but clearly, "Aoshi, your men have come back and they are all wounded. Go to them; they are with Jiya in the garden, by the swing. I'll go get Megumi onee-chan!" Without a backward glance, his young proficient wife swept away, her tresses waving after her like a dark flag. Aoshi coolly watched her leave before clenching his swords and walked methodically out of the dojo, his face as expressionless as ever. 

They sat up valiantly, all wrapped up in assorted bandages and some with casts or splints. Aoshi gestured for them to sit, and yet they stood, their pride emanating from them like waves. Aoshi then gave them a slight, wry semi-smile and simply said, "Welcome back." But even with this laconic greeting, his four onmitsu smiled a response of their own—they knew what he meant and felt, even if he refused to reveal his inner thoughts. Standing upright, Aoshi nodded to Hannya, who bowed restrictively due to the sling that held his arm, "Okashira, we have some crucial information. Kanryuu is fleeing to the outskirts of Nagano as we speak. There, he has a hidden manufacturing plant where he produces opium. He had removed all signs of his presence from the city proper. We surmised that he is there to gather up his most valuable assets and flee once more, because he also has his weapons factories worked up into a commotion as well." The unsaid conclusion was understood at once: Kanryuu would eventually have to make his way to Yokohama.

Aoshi looked over his men with a calculating gaze, his expression icier than ever as he dismissed them, his eyes lingering on the way Beshimi limped, how Shikijou's breathing wracked his whole frame and how Hyottoko stood rigidly, as not to open the wound in his back any more. And Hannya, his mask shrouding all the pain he had from having a broken arm. Aoshi felt his anger wash over him in dark waves, threatening to engulf him, but no—he would control it and mold it into something manageable, something functional. This anger would be wielded as a most formidable weapon, one more fiery and precise than any weapon Kanryuu muster with his illegal connections and black market ties.

"How could he be so calm, when his men came in so battered?" The indignant voice of Kamiya Megumi rang out furiously as she tossed the medical bag onto her futon, "Does he have no emotions, no sense of feeling?"

Misao was uncharacteristically quiet, her aquamarine eyes still and deep as she entered the room quietly behind her irate cousin, "Megumi onee-chan, be still. We owe my husband our lives."

"How can I when I see what little gratitude he gives to his men?"

Misao blinked slightly, then sighed, "But he did give them his gratefulness, in the best way he knew how. I saw it." She saw the way Aoshi had laid his hands on the shoulders of his men, heavy and warm. She saw how Aoshi dragged or carried each one, with the mildest of holds. He needed not to impart any words, not when his actions would communicate all he wished to say to them. She had seen to the injured onmitsu with her cousin, whose hands had the slightest of tremors, her anger washing over her in waves. What Megumi had seen as a grievous lack of compassion, Misao had been able to see plenty of it in glimpses and flashes of cool, indigo light. There was no way to make her cousin see what she could not see, but Misao would try: "He welcomed his men in the best way his own character would allow." Megumi sat in stony silence, her dark cinnamon eyes gazing stormily at the wall as Misao reached over to give her cousin a warm kiss on the cheek and leave her to her still reverie, "A penny for your thoughts." She knew her own would receive nothing.

It was late in the night, and the sky was starless, encompassing in its ink-stained entirety. The only flashes of light came from lethargic glimpses of the moon and the ground swathed in pale spring petals. Aoshi stood motionless in stark contrast with the white floor and in harmony with the dark, bleeding night, blending almost perfectly into the twilight. A gentle sigh traveled in the air, rustling at the lapels of his shirt and tousled his ebony hair. Staring dismally at the white swathed garden, Aoshi was mercilessly reminded of white bandages, the wounds of his men—their suffering. The failure was completely his, and Aoshi took the burden up unflinchingly, but that didn't make up for the blood that stained his hands. The blood of his men. 

            "Aoshi-san?" He tensed slightly, his back straightening rigidly as he recognized that soft, inquiring voice. Why wouldn't she let him lick his wounds in peace? Her presence was absolutely unnecessary. He could feel her soft footsteps, light and unsure. She halted a few paces from him, her hesitance almost tangible, mingling with the heady scent of plum blossoms and jasmine. She made as if to turn and leave him in peace; he could almost see her shift her weight on her other leg to make a swift, quiet retreat. He urged her silently to go—she should know better than to embrace the dark. Yet she was foolish: she stayed. 

            "Aoshi-san," this time Misao's voice was firm, clear and smooth, "do not compromise your health. Your men need you in one piece." He stood silent, unyielding and dark against the lukewarm moonlight.

She was scared—confronting her husband had not been the foremost thought in her mind when she had passed by the inn's garden door after visiting a rapidly recovering Sou-nii, only to find it slightly ajar. When she had stepped forward to shut it, she saw the formidable figure of Aoshi, alone despite all the power he radiated. At that moment, Misao felt her heart jerk. True, she could not offer her love to him, but she saw in the pristine moonlight another broken man instead of the ideal Okashira he seemed to depict. She then decided, out of her own accord, to love him the best she could; even if she couldn't offer the ideal love of a wife, she could at least provide him the love of a sister, of a friend. She was sure that even this kind of love had been nonexistent if not momentary, since he seemed to have no living family of his own besides the other Oniwabanshuu. She inched forward slowly but steadily, looking up into his midnight clear eyes with her own lucid eyes, a small but set smile crinkling her eyes a bit as she did something he would not expect her to have the audacity of doing. 

Misao reached out and secured his hand with a firm grasp, invading his body with her warmth and unwonted contact, her eyes locked onto his. Aoshi had it in mind to force her to release her grip on him and put her in her place, but something in his wife's expression halted him. He gazed down upon her open face, attempting to fathom the reason behind this unnecessary contact, but he couldn't seem to see past the bewildering gesture. Her eyes had not left his throughout his critical scrutiny, anxious, wide and naked as she continued to gaze upon him. Aoshi looked down at her with marginal surprise until he realized that some response was expected from him, some sign of acknowledgment. Those eyes, more open and decipherable than they had ever been in front of him, seemed to inquire something. Suddenly, it hit him; understanding flooding through his mind as his eyes widened marginally—this touch, this look… she was offering something to him. This startling new discovery led to a myriad of questions, but the prevalent one blazing fiercely in his mind as he continued to gaze into his wife's face. _Would he take it?_ This was no matter for methodical thought—Misao was asking him a matter of the heart; a matter that he often shunned. He decided to answer her the best he could, in his own way… he nodded.

Chapter 2

            In the next two months Aoshi remained at the Aoiya, waiting for his men to heal and analyzing his plans. He knew that Kanryuu had left the country for fear of being caught, and he had made preparations accordingly. His Tokyo men? He had offered to disband the Oniwabanshuu for the time being and let Misao's friends and family back home, but they had refused. The fiery look in Sagara's eyes as well as the haunted determination painted over the lady doctor's face revealed that theirs was a personal issue as well. It turned out that not only did they refuse to abort the mission, but also a handful of them offered to take the place of his injured men and to scout the lands, in search of any information about Kanryuu and his whereabouts. Aoshi had assented, seeing the sense and advantage that such a move would make, allowing Sagara, Himura and Soujirou to leave once things had settled down for a while. Just because they had reached a consensus; however, did not mean that they had reached a similar course in friendship. The only thing that saved the tense situation between the Kyoto ninjas and the Makimachi men was the woman uniting both clans. Misao, after having made some sense of her relationship with the Okashira, finally took reign of the awkwardness of the circumstances, easing the residents and visitors alike with her easy smile, her clever flashing eyes and her ready laughter. The sense of almost embarrassing debt felt on Misao's family's side as well as the reluctance on Aoshi's part to drag individuals into Oniwabanshuu conflicts seemed to be melted away with her gaiety and will to mend, to soothe, to link. _Really, it is for the best_, noted Aoshi as he considered the tactfulness behind his wife's lighthearted actions, _if we are all waiting for Kanryuu to slink back to Japan, we might as well grow accustomed to each other's company_. Misao, already a favorite with the Aoiya inhabitants, attempted to reach out to the other onmitsu who had followed her husband in his mission—she visited his four wounded men with a smile and gentle hands, and trained with the others with athletic grace and tireless persistence. Soon, his men followed her with their eyes, looking after her unconsciously with a twinkle of affection in their hardened features. It appeared that they were helpless in the spell she had woven unwittingly, and ignorant of her power at the same time. 

Yet he had not anticipated the extent at which Misao's uplifting spirits influenced him himself. In fact, neither of them had expected their relationship to cultivate that far. It had first started with subtle small tasks Misao took upon herself to procure his welfare: a steaming cup of tea to fight against the spring night chill, or his clean pressed clothes set neatly in his clothes drawers, ready for him to wear the next day. He, in turn, would watch her with shrouded restraint. It was not only marital duty that compelled him to observe his wife; genuine interest played a key role in his getting to acquaint himself with the mysterious woman forced into wedlock with him. She, of course, had no idea of his shadowed adjustment to her, or the gradual familiarity he had gained with her words, her actions and her emotions. But the change was there. Little by little, the two found that their paths were crossed more and more often as the days passed by, an inevitable result emerging from their deepening acquaintance. Nor did the couple shun the changes. 

Misao hummed softly to herself, crinkling her nose slightly when she noticed how much soap had collected under her fingernails. She sighed distastefully as she dunked the sopping shirts back into the foamy water, the pristine smell of soap and a hint of lemon hovering around her as she immersed herself in thought. Weeks, it had been weeks. In the matter of a handful of days, she had managed to reach her husband in ways she had thought impossible when she had just arrived at the Aoiya. She didn't deserve all the credit, however. Misao was pretty sure that if he hadn't wanted to, she really wouldn't be able to make any dent or chip in his formidable emotional shield, which led her to a startling conclusion: he _wanted_ to know her better. 

"Misao." 

The slender woman jumped, nearly knocking the whole washbasin over as she pressed a wet hand to her chest, her expression one of unmasked shock, "Goddammit, Aoshi! I told you not to scare me like that!" The words had tumbled out of her mouth before her head could restrain them. Misao wanted to scream with dismay: not only had she sworn at him, but she had also forgotten to refer to him formally. Aoshi didn't seem like a man who would tolerate such… _familiarity_ at such a rapid rate. Misao felt guilty—she barely knew the man, and here she was already yelling at him like some shrew of a wife. Out of habit, she ducked her head to hide the flush that traveled quickly from her cheeks to the rest of her face.

Her husband quirked an eyebrow at her, the only acknowledgment he would give at hearing his wife's foul language. Whether or not he was surprised with the words that had come out of her delicate-looking mouth, he did not show it: "It would be favorable if you would come with me." 

Misao glanced at him uncertainly as she rubbed her wet, soapy hands vigorously on the sides of her smock, roughly pushing aside strands of her wispy hair behind her ear. She then gave him a discomfited look and bobbed her head, following him upstair with a light tread, her head lowered as she struggled to keep her shame from flushing her features—so much for him wanting to know her better.

Aoshi climbed the stairs effortlessly, his long legs affording him to take several steps at one stride. Misao lagged behind, the effort of climbing stairs greater for her shorter legs. The tall, somber man felt what seemed to be the lingering taste of amusement that threatened to make his mouth curve up. He could feel her acute mortification just as keenly as he could feel the vibration of her steps behind his. Her outburst had taken him by surprise, but only to a certain degree. He had seen her throw greater fits of temper, and had expected only to wait for a measurable amount of time before he himself became subject to her exasperation. What she didn't know was that he knew much more of her character than he had let on. He felt her stop suddenly, her aura flickering as she seemed to be wrestling with her emotions.

"Aoshi…-san?" The curve of his lips became marginally more visible, "I just… well, I want to apolo—"

"There is nothing to ask pardon for." He then turned his head slightly, looking at her over his shoulder with a hint of light his blue-gray eyes, "Why would you apologize for giving into your nature?"

The look he was rewarded was priceless. Misao stared up at him; her cerulean eyes wide and her mouth parted slightly in what appeared to be wholly childish astonishment. She had never looked more lost in all of the times he had seen her. Aoshi turned abruptly, climbing the rest of the stairs in silence. Misao joined him in his office a few minutes later, her face a brilliant crimson. She settled stiffly in one of the armchairs, refusing to meet her husband's gaze as she murmured her inquiry, "So… has something happened?"

He had caught the underlying tone of her question and curbed her worry with a shake of his head, "No, there are no endangering matters as of yet. What I called you in here for was to tell you that I have yet another outing to attend to."

Misao only looked down at her hands, her face wiped of all emotions. He could not tell if she was so inexpressive due to her disappointment, her relief, her indifference, or her consideration—it seemed he still had a lot to learn about his young consort. She then relaxed suddenly, her slight shoulders loosening as she looked up at him with a shaky smile, her eyes deep with a number of emotions Aoshi wasn't sure he wanted to identify: "Well, Aoshi-san…be careful, okay?" She then fixed her eyes on her lap, gnawing her lower lip apprehensively. Aoshi wondered why she was so worried all of a sudden. Then realization hit him as he saw her fidget with her hands, her eyes stormy with their ocean-tossed depths; she was worried that he would end up in the same state as his men. Aoshi let out a slight mental sigh, only to see that she wrenched her gaze from her lap and looked up at him sharply, her eyes intent on his. Apparently, he had exhaled aloud, quite unintentionally. To cover up this minor slip of control, the Okashira turned to the window, his voice ringing out coldly, "You are dismissed, Misao." 

Only after he had heard the quiet, muffled sound of the shoji door being shut did Aoshi let his hands cradle his head. She was very slowly starting to urge him, to coax him—to persuade him. Of what, he was not yet certain, but there one thing he was sure of, and that was of how dangerous this all was becoming.

Blindly she descended, her mind swirling with thoughts of _him_. That sigh… so simple yet so poignant on its own. More than anything he could have said or done, it was that one sigh that intrigued her the most. What did he have stored within all the bolts and locks he had cast all over his soul? Surely it wasn't anything that couldn't be healed, could it? Wandering mindlessly down the quiet hallway, Misao found herself in front of her room without actually remembering how she got there, so absorbed she was in contemplating the makings of her mysterious husband. So absorbed that she had walked into her room and closed the door, all the while failing to register another unexpected presence in her room. 

"Misao."

"Yargh!" Misao screamed as her hands fluttered to her face, her eyes wild as her gaze settled on Sanosuke's rugged countenance. She scowled out of reflex, "Mou! First Aoshi-san, and now you? Can't a girl walk around without having to fear for her life?"

Sanosuke merely narrowed his eyes at her mention of the Okashira, the cinnamon warmth darkening as he nudged off of the wall he had been leaning on and approached her languidly. Misao swallowed faintly, realizing suddenly that she had not faced Sanosuke fully since their last encounter, and that now they were very much alone. Her legs betrayed her, and she took a slight step backwards. Sanosuke took notice of her uneasiness and scowled, stopping in front of her with an unfathomable look in his deep eyes. Misao exhaled jaggedly as she watched her friend clench and unclench his fists and let out a growl. She was utterly baffled as to how she would handle a situation like this. Since he had sought her out, she reasoned, she would wait until he had told her what he came to say. Composing herself considerably, Misao locked her fingers together as she gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile and awaited his words. 

Sanosuke gave her a piercing look, one that almost requested her to ease him into what he had to say. She stood friendly, yet silent—it swiftly came to him that she would not help him this time. The young man ran a large hand through his hair disconcertedly before murmuring, "So we have come to this, huh?"

Misao forgot her resolve to be silent until she heard him out completely, "Excuse me?"

Sanosuke gave her a wry smile, but his eyes did not share the humor: "I see that we have come to a point where separation is inevitable."

His one-time best friend and most cherished companion bowed her head in guilt, loss and confusion, "It would be better this way, Sanosuke."

"So it seems."

Misao's head jerked up suddenly as she gave him a searching look, "Do you release me?"

Sanosuke's pained expression hit her heart like a knife thrust, "I, release you? The only one who can answer to that call would be Shinomori."

Misao started forward, grasping her friend's hand impulsively, "Don't sound so forceful, Sano! You and I—we're still friends!"

The handsome young man recoiled from her touch, making her drop his hand within a second, as he breathed out his pain, "Friends?" he echoed vacantly, "I cannot take your offer—it isn't enough to satisfy me."

Misao's pained eyes soon flashed with anger, "How? Can't you—" she soon stopped herself; however, when she saw the extent at which her refusal had pained him, her expression soon echoing his ache. The two, once so close that they nearly shared a heartbeat, now stood within inches of each other, and yet they both seemed to occupy different worlds, torn apart by the changes of life. Misao felt a tear trickle down her cheek and sighed shakily before she squared her shoulders and murmured, "Sanosuke, my offer will always stand." 

The young man looked at her with blank eyes, his face pale as he took rigid steps, brushing past her as he walked out of her room, apparently not hearing what she had said. Misao waited until he disappeared down the hallway before she closed her door hastily and sank down against it, reveling in its cold, solid strength against her back as she wept, drinking in the upcoming nocturnal darkness with an anguished, silent cry.

**Author's note**: I officially ran out of Austen titles for my chapters, and will just add different titles from assorted works to suit my needs. I thought this story would be shorter than the others I wrote/ am writing, but apparently, I am wrong. With Kanryuu out of the country, Aoshi's men injured and the starring couple's relationship still at a wholesome oatmeal stage, I find I still have a lot to do. Besides, I have to introduce Eniishi into the story soon… (urh, Eniishi lovers… I'm not sure if he'll be all that agreeable in this fanfic. Miyan!)

Bear with me, please. 

Dragowolf and FlameSolo: Oops, sorry for that misleading "chapter". I had posted it in response to a reviewer's request. I hope you didn't wait long for this chapter to come out, ne?

Megami no Ushi: good guess for the title! Austen rocks! I especially love Mr. Darcy… I know that this story is slow going (especially for the A+M), but it's emerging… I hardly think that I can rush a relationship, especially one between two reluctant spouses

Mini Me: Yeah, if you saw my "update", you'll see that I put my e-mail address on my bio. You overrate my writing—you're too sweet! ^_^

A burst of gratitude and a very Misao-like weasel grin to all those who reviewed! Special thanks to those who have also kept up with my other stories and/or are

consistent reviewers: **Argentum Draco, Dragowolf, chris, Kenta Divina, Noa, Kmye-chan, Megami no Ushi, Tree Nymph, Mini Me, MightyMighty Munson, FlameSolo, nekonomiko, Yavanna, Aiteane, LSR-7, caramel, kenni, thoughtxcrime, kodachi&kunai, lebleuphenix, Azura Dea, Midori Natari Himura and any others who I (at this time of the night) have been scatterbrained enough to forget (perdoneme!)**

            ALSO, I would LOVE to thank those who had more than the usual "cute" or "how sweet" comments to give. Not that those are any less encouraging, but the more critical (yeah, even the ones that zing a bit) and in-depth reviews are what make me shape my stories better!

            Heh. So much for my "I-can't-update-because-of-the-APs" vow. 


	5. Part V chapter I

Disclaimer: It's been freaking forever, huh. None of the original plot of RK is mine.

The Invisible Man

Chapter 1

The bitterness of the departure—of whose, there was no telling—left a sour taste in Misao's mouth. Half a month she had waited, argued with herself and paced, coming to only one definite conclusion: that as of the past week a letter was in high order. The last bits of humidity clung to her night attire, and she sneezed involuntarily, breaking the quiet of the night. Misao rubbed her eyes sleepily, her arms sore from the day's grueling training with Kuro and Shiro. They claimed she was improving daily, encouraging her to be bolder in her advances and composed in her defense. She stood up to shake off the edges of sleep from her body, eager to get through some of the paperwork that had been accumulating at her absentee husband's desk over the last three weeks. When she lifted her head, she saw one of her kunai embedded in the vegetable patch from across the yard. _Funny_, she thought, her brow crinkling, _I could have sworn the last time I practiced outdoors three days ago. Besides, how could I have left out a kunai for that long? I counted them all today to make sure none were missing_. She walked over to the plot of land where the dagger was implanted, only to notice that all of the vegetables had been uprooted haphazardly and slashed. Shivers went down the young woman's spine as she lifted up the kunai and felt that it was _still warm to the touch_. She felt a shift in the wind and for once obeyed her instincts with a speed that would have made her husband proud. Her reactions came in alarming succession as well—from alarming wariness mingled with fear, to the gravelly determinism of one walking into a losing battle, and finally, a state of agitated recognition.  
Even white teeth bared, simplistic frames resting on the bridge of his nose, a polished-looking Yukishiro Eniishi bore down upon Misao with cold humor: "You never really were good at playing house, now were you?"

The smell of smoking splintered wood and burning flesh made Sanosuke recoil. His eyes narrowing as he took in the wreckage with tense shoulders and unusual stillness. The Oniwabanshuu and the Makimachi clan had come to the outskirts of a deceptively productive rice plantation, on the lead of some details sent by their informants, resolute in their minds to tap into Kanryuu's sources and put an end to his clandestine trade affairs. They had not expected a scene of cryptic bloodshed that met their eyes; bloodshed that seemed to have nothing to do with Kanryuu whatsoever, yet it stood undeniably as a part of the whole debacle. Beside him, Soujirou brought the sleeve of his uniform to his nose, the fabric nearly muffling his quiet words, "Whoever did this must surely wish for the Oniwabanshuu—and all of its _livelihood_—to perish. Kanryuu must be mad in and of himself to find that he now has two skilled enemies wreaking destruction upon his investments."  
Sanosuke's jaw clenched as he glared at Aoshi's men making their rounds, his eyes blazing, "If after all of this mess, I don't see a pretty picture painted with a certain ice prick and his prized livelihood training a brood of kunai-chucking brats, I will curse him to oblivion, beat him to a bloody pulp, and then have Misao poison him with her cooking."  
Soujirou's arm jerked from his face as his eyes crinkled with unexpected laughter, "I'd love to see you try. Besides our friend Himura here, there's none who can match up to Shinomori-san. Perhaps the Mibu wolf..." Soujirou's eyes gazed over the wreckage, but his blank smile didn't seem to integrate it in all its intensity. He seemed to transport himself to warmer months, days of banter, and moments of shared warmth, even as words of warning came out in a murmur: "I know you do not agree with the terms of our sister's marriage, but it is best that you do not let that dissatisfaction show through your countenance; it will only cause pain and opportunities for exploitation." Sanosuke refused to answer, his mouth set in a firm scowl as he trudged off to join Himura inside the ruins of the building.

Aoshi stood by the well with his men, listening to them impassively as they gave them his perspective on the situation.  
"Surely, it wouldn't be for naught that Yukishiro Eniishi was brought into the fray."  
"What sort of personal vendetta could he have, to be so bold in his actions… against the both of you?"  
Hannya held his hand up, his head tilting slightly as he asked, "The question is not how who knows you, it's what he knows of you, and what he chooses to do with such information."  
Aoshi merely nodded, his eyes meeting that of his masked right-hand man for a split second as he looked over the note… carved into the wood roof of the well. Picking out strands of fine white hair, the tall man read over the cryptic message for the second time, murmuring, "Braids that hold the severed shield..."  
Suddenly, the picture seemed to fit so much more than just Kanryuu to the point that he appeared petty to the other appearances that had made themselves clear within the last few weeks. Not only had another threat appeared into the larger image, but he had to contend with the Mibu Wolf, whose exact stance in this whole dilemma was a point of ambiguity. At this point, Aoshi knew instinctively that he had to secure the home base: it was not a secret that he had obtained a young wife, and although she had ceased to stand as a liability, there was no harm in solidifying her protection. It was simply that: no harm in securing one's assets, at all.

The little minx was staring at him through slanted eyes, the contents of them almost purple from suppressed worry and fury, but when she opened her mouth to speak, her lips barely moved.  
"Where have you been?"  
If he was taken aback by her inquiry, he demonstrated no change of emotion, even as he fingered the hilt of his sword with satisfaction, his wry smile still intact as he murmured back, "Satisfying myself."  
Misao's head ducked, her voice lost for a moment as she grieved. Eniishi watched her with distant eyes, perceiving this living piece of his past with the eyes of a man invisible to his surroundings.  
Yet what a presence he held in her mind. Misao lifted her head once more as she asked with a weary sigh, "What happened to your sister? And what of your promise to me?"  
The frost-littered head of the young man lowered so that they were mere inches from each other, his eyes a stormy aquamarine, "She's _dead_, because of your damned promise."  
Only then did Misao cry openly.

Several days had passed, and since their last conversation, Misao and Eniishi did not strive to converse much. She was imprisoned in the cellar of some building, yet she was not uncomfortable. There were the barest of furnishings—a sofa, washbasin, bed, and even a mirror—all useful implements for the resourceful mind. When asked why he had left her in the comfort of a home, and at his risk of losing her, Eniishi only laughed, his eyes wrinkling a fraction as he responded, "You are one of those who are too greedy for life to take it away with your own hands."  
At this, Misao could not restrain her scowl at his having read her so well, still… after all these years, and denied a response. She turned her back to him, her silent message that she no longer wished to speak to him, yet he would not remove his presence from her door. In fact… she turned around quickly, sensing his proximity, only to see him quite close up, too close for comfort. She let out a slight noise, her eyes large and her hands reaching out to push him away, but his large hands reached out to secure her as he bent down, his intense eyes boring into hers as he whispered, "You cannot avoid me, just like I cannot avoid you. In a sense, you'd say we were a reluctant… _couple_." Misao shivered, turning her face away from his as she felt his lips descend upon her cheek, placing a deceptively chaste kiss on her as he let go gently, wry laughter radiating from his body. Laughter that derived itself from undeniably male satisfaction.  
"Do that again," Misao growled angrily, her eyes snapping, "and no matter how long you keep me tied up in here, I will somehow manage to deliver a kick to your balls."  
Her only answer was the sound of laughter in his footsteps and the closing of a door.  
Misao gritted her teeth and prayed that she would either be resourceful enough, or that Aoshi would soon get a hint and whisk her far, far away from Yukishiro Eniishi.

Author's note: No lame excuse, but updates will be sporadic. I wish to complete this one, in the least, because the plot for this one was most intriguing, and I don't like leaving assignments incomplete. Sorry, I'm not plugged much into RK anymore, but this is not a chore for me; I love to write. Likewise, I hope this isn't a complete waste of space and is relatively enjoyable for you readers.

Oh, and it may seem like Eniishi's appearance is rather... sudden. It was intentional, my queridos. Life grabs you from behind.


End file.
